


Who We Are In the (Lost) Light

by Cranky_Tanky



Series: Who We Are In the (Lost) Light [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Found Family, M/M, Multi, as in i made it, neocybex the language
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2020-03-07 03:47:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 57,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cranky_Tanky/pseuds/Cranky_Tanky
Summary: With all the players in motion, the Lost Light, captained by Rodimus Prime of Nyon, sets out on its journey -- with a few extra passengers.





	1. Pilot, Part II

**Author's Note:**

> here we go! part 2! this will follow the same upload sequence as part 1, but i'll probably stop uploading around chapter 5 at the latest to give me time to write out and edit everything.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of the war, everyone is struggling to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains heavy mentions of drug use and on screen drug addiction.

Bumblebee looked up from his work as Prowl rushed in, bracing himself on the doorframe. “Prowl, what’s the matter?”

 

“There’s a huge Decepticon ship docking at hangar 5E,” Prowl huffed urgently, “Scans show it’s the  _ Erstwhile Assemblance.” _

 

Bumblebee dropped his stylus and got up, limping along behind Prowl as his cane thumped on the floor. Ships were returning left and right, from all factions. It wasn’t the first time a large Decepticon ship had docked, but Flux was definitely the highest ranker they’d gotten so far. Well… if they had to get high-rankers coming back, Bumblebee supposed Flux would have been the best one to start with. She was known for being reasonable.

 

The two transformed when they got outside and burned rubber down the road, screeching to halt at the entrance of hangar 5E. A quick flash of their credentials was all it took to let them in, and Bumblebee watched as the huge freighter ship’s engines idled as the ship settled. Dust flew out from under it. It was a massive ship, painted a steely gray interspersed with flashes of purple. A Decepticon badge was branded on the sides. A side hatch puffed steam from its seams, and an unloading ramp lowered, revealing the imposing Major General herself, standing tall in the doorway. Her fists were larger than Bumblebee’s head.

 

Flux, ever gregarious, beamed upon seeing Bee, and the yellow bot was more than a little shocked (and yet not shocked at all) when she waved to him. “Bumblebee!” she called, “It’s good to see you again!”

 

“Why don’t you come on down, Major General?” Bumblebee called, still a little bit wary. Yes, Flux had saved his life -- but that was four million years ago. What had changed in that time?

 

_ Everything, _ and as Flux jogged lightly down the ramp until she hit the ground, coming over to eagerly shake Bumblebee’s hand, and  _ nothing, _ apparently. “It really is wonderful to see you like this,” she said, gesturing around them. Prowl looked like his optics were about to bug out of his sockets, and Flux glanced over at him. She was civil, but it wasn’t enthusiastic. The smile dropped slightly into a polite grimace. “Prowl.”

 

“How many combata --” Prowl cleared his throat. “How many crew members are aboard?”

 

“Phew,” Flux breathed, turning back around to survey her ship. Shadowy figures crouched at the edges of the doorway, multitudes of gleaming eyes blinking out at the trio. “There’s my five generals -- Conure left us a while back to go exploring -- and the lieutenants, and the petty officers -- that’s close to three hundred.”

 

“Bring them out.”

 

“Is it safe?” Flux asked, suspicion bleeding through. She looked to Bumblebee for the answer. “Is this over for real?”

 

Bumblebee smiled at her, a bit reservedly. He couldn’t deny it was refreshing to see a Decepticon so ready to drop old grudges so quickly. “It’s over for real.”

 

Flux’s beaming smile returned and she turned back to her ship, putting her pinkies at the corners of her mouth and whistling sharply. Her hands dropped as she called out, “Zag, Zoom! Carapace, Regus, Oracle! To me!”

 

Immediately, her in-commands melted from the crowd and descended the ramp, coming to stand behind their commander. Prowl was looking quite antsy at this point, but Bee kept things calm. “We’re going to need to check out your ship, you understand. We have a place for you to stay -- a lot of Decepticons are already there.”

 

“We used the last of our supplies to get here,” Flux said, seemingly worried. “Are there any fuel distribution programs?”

 

Bee and Prowl looked at each other and back at Flux. “Something’s in the works,” Bee covered smoothly, “For now, let’s get you all to the missile silo so you have a place to stay for the night and we can check over your ship. Prowl, call a police escort so we don’t spook the public.”

 

Prowl nodded, all business, and retreated a few steps, talking into his comms. Flux smiled gently down at Bee.

 

“I’m so glad we were able to meet on these terms,” she said, “I’m glad things are over.”

 

“Me too, Major General. me too.”

 

“Please, call me Flux,” the plane said, “my units call me Major General. Can the rest of my crew exit the ship?”

 

“Just keep it orderly,” Bee affirmed, nodding. Flux turned around and whistled again, waving to herself.

 

“Come on out! Ah, ah! Don’t run out like a bunch of mechanimals, keep it contained! Good.” Flux surveyed with a careful eye, almost seeming to be doing a headcount as members filed out to mill around behind the Generals. One particularly bouncy jet ran around to the front, seemingly drowning in all of this New Cybertron. Bumblebee was pretty sure his neck was going to get stuck looking up at the sky. 

 

“I’ve never seen Cybertron before,” he chattered, excitable. “Is this what it used to look like?”

 

“Not even close,” another jet said, quietly, one of the generals. Flux shooed the bouncy one back into the fold.

 

“Zig, please,” she admonished, “not now.”

 

As they waited for the police escort, Flux and Bumblebee talked, mostly about logistics of harboring such a large group of people in the missile silo. Flux apparently hadn’t changed a bit. She had three main concerns -- space to keep them together, supplies to keep them fed, and a bureaucratic infrastructure to keep them safe.

 

“I’m going to be honest with you,” Bumblebee said, “we’re struggling to get on our feet. I’m sure you know that after… well, it’s going to be hard.”

 

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Flux asked, taking Bee aback. He blinked, in shock.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“You know. To help things get running more smoothly. Is there anything I can do?”

 

“For right now, let’s get you and yours officially settled in, and then we’ll see.”

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


West swung his foot by the ankle, swishing one shoe delicately in the air as he whistled quietly to himself. Other applicants for the position sat in chairs like his lined up and down two rows facing each other. Most of them had a good few decades of life on West, as he was only the tail end of nineteen. He'd be twenty in a week. There were several promising applicants, and West was keeping tabs on every one. 

 

He knew fluent Decepticon Neocybex, conversational Autobot Neocybex, and he was currently on his way to being a polyglot with his studies of common Non-Aligned dialects. After all, what was an ambassador who couldn't speak any of the language? There was less likelihood of being duped by translators with an agenda if one knew the languages they’d encounter. And West had been speaking Decepticon Neocybex since he was nine, Autobot since he was sixteen. He had every conviction that he was the best candidate there.

 

The interviewer poked his head out of the room. “West McLambert?”

 

West got up gracefully, brushing imaginary dirt off of his slacks and hearing the satisfying click of his oxfords as he went to shake the man's hand with a firm grip. He smiled brightly and tucked some of his platinum hair behind one ear, the other side brushing his chin. “Afternoon, General. How are you today?”

 

“I'm well, and yourself?” 

 

“I'm doing wonderful,” West said, nodding in acknowledgement as he was let into the room and the door closed behind him. “Thank you for seeing me today. What questions do you have for me?”

 

“Your resume claimed some remarkable things,” the general said, sitting down behind his impressive desk as West took a chair on the other side. The desk had a large wall bookshelf behind it, with impressive tomes stenciled in gold leaf. “You say you're fluent in Neocybex?”

 

“Absolutely, sir,” West answered, “I learned immersion style from an early age, when I met a rogue Cybertronian that was injured. Then I moved to Arizona and learned another dialect when I settled down with Team Prime. I have Bumblebee, Ratchet, and Optimus Prime in my list of references to start.”

 

“That's damn impressive,” the man muttered, flipping to it. “No college degree, though?”

 

“No sir. I'm attempting to get my GED. Unfortunate family circumstances warranted my speedy, er…  _ self-removal _ from home before I could finish high school, unfortunately.”

 

“We can help you out with that, if you get the job, although if I'm honest with you, your language skills alone are a clincher. There was something funny running you through the system, though -- it seems your birth certificate doesn't quite match current records.”

 

West waved it aside calmly. “An unfortunate mix-up at the hospital. I’m getting it changed soon.”

 

“Mhm. So why do you want to be an ambassador, West?”

 

“I find Cybertronians amazing,” West answered honestly. “I want to get off this mudball and go explore new places, if I'm being totally honest. Brokering peace between our first officially friendly peacetime contact with an alien race is the opportunity of a lifetime, wouldn't you say?”

 

“It sure is,” the man chuckled. “You've got the drive, which is very good. But you're very young, West. Are you sure you can handle a job like this?”

 

“I'm very good at negotiating tense situations,” West answered flatly. “Many of my qualifications for this job are through personal experience.”

 

“Mhm. I admire your confidence. West, if I'm being perfectly frank with you, we had already decided to take you on before you walked in. However, you're far too young to be the face of something like this. We've hired someone with more experience, and you're going to be his aide. You'll function as a translator and trained into the position of official ambassador within a contractual four years. Does that sound acceptable?”

 

“I would be honored,” West said, standing to reach for a handshake.

 

“Great. We’ll get your information down and your tax forms in so we can get you on the payroll, and then we can get a uniform tailored to you. It's going to be a bit flashier than most, I hope that's not too emasculating,” the guy chuckled, and West waved it away.

 

“I wear heels,” he said, relishing in the guy's blink. “I like flashy.”

 

West went back to his apartment that night and smoked a blunt to think on it, frowning at the fact that he wasn't going to be real ambassador. He'd have to… nudge his obstacle out of the way eventually. He got called in for a second interview and to meet his direct ambassadorial boss a week later. He was early to that meeting, wearing clothes that were still top-notch professional but a little more effeminate. Ease them into it, he supposed. He shouldn’t have had to, but he had to be a hundred percent certain he’d get this job.

 

As he was waiting in the lobby, scrolling through his phone, the click of heels approached him. He looked up to see a very tall person with iron-straight platinum hair that went down to their shoulders. They had a lovely fitted dark crimson and black dress on with cap sleeves that bolstered what little curves they had. West, even though he had had the benefit of the Arizona sun for the last few years, was paler than they were, their skin a warm dark brown. 

 

The person extended their hand for a shake -- West stood up to shake it. “You must be the new ambassador, I assume?”

 

“Something like that,” West said, equally coy. The person’s hair, while pretty, seemed off. And West knew in exactly what way. “Might I have the pleasure of an introduction?”

 

The person chuckled through their nose. “Victor,” they said, simultaneously dropping West’s hand and smoothly tapping a pin that said “he/him” on his right breast.

 

_ “I like your hair,” _ West said, casually in Autobot Neocybex. If his hunch was correct, “Victor” would know what he said. Indeed, the other’s blonde eyebrows flew up as if impressed and pleasantly surprised. Autobot Neocybex wasn’t his best dialect, but he knew it well enough to hold a perfectly fine conversation. He was much more comfortable in Decepticon Neocybex.

 

_ “Why, thank you,”  _ Victor replied in kind, tiny smile quirking the corners of his mouth as if he were impressed.  _ “How did you know?” _

 

_ “You all can never program the matrix right,” _ West said, smirking a little in response.  _ “If you know what you’re looking for, it’s obvious.” _

 

_ “I suppose I will have to work on that, then,”  _ Victor dismissed, but seemed  _ lastingly _ impressed. His syntax changed slightly, but West barely noticed.  _ “What’s someone like you doing applying for ambassador? I’ve read your file.” _

 

_ “Oh,” _ West said, replying in the same syntax.  _ “Just a chance to do something with my life, I guess. I have the skills, so why not put ‘em to work?” _

 

_ “Indeed,” _ Victor mused, looking West up and down as if surveying him. West got the feeling he’d just met someone important and adrenaline rushed through his veins. If he had made a good impression on someone like this then his future was bound for good things. _ “I’m afraid I have to leave you,” _ he said, switching back to something a little more flowery,  _ “but it was lovely meeting you, West.” _

 

And he walked away, heels clicking against the tiled floor.

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


Virtue hummed to himself in thought, holoform flickering out as he stood up from the lobby of the citadel. As long as one projected their holoform on Cybertron and walked it through a space bridge, it wasn’t too hard on the frame. 

 

While some of the other applicants were impressive, the vast majority of them were military brats. And none of them had had personal experience with Team Prime to boot. Most of them were just beginning to take a class in Neocybex, having only learned the conversational basics and would still be relying on a translator if they got the job if their conversation partner didn’t want to download the entire English lexicon. West was near-perfect for the job. He was young, had a magnetic personality, adaptable, fluent in at least one dialect of Neocybex and ambitious. Virtue would have to put the pressure on these American generals and make sure West’s application… received priority, even though it was mostly a done deal. One could never be too careful. He supposed the young organic almost reminded him of Starscream -- which could go quite spectacularly or quite terribly. He’d need someone like Virtue to steer him in the right direction. Properly guided, an ambitious force like that could be unstoppable.

 

His skill in Decepticon Neocybex -- notably more natural than his Autobot -- was unusual and intriguing. Virtue would have to start digging a little -- if West had spent so much time with Team Prime, it only made sense that he’d be fluent in Autobot Neocybex as well. Instead, Virtue found that in their brief conversation, West had often ported Decepticon syntax into his Autobot Neocybex. And his accent was most unusual, especially in the Decepticon dialect. It almost reminded him of… he couldn’t put his finger on it. Virtue brushed it aside as organic shortcomings and went about his business.

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


Gadget walked into the stopgap clinic, looking around. It was a shoddy building, hastily erected by the blossoming government like many of its siblings in an attempt to deal with the burgeoning number of returning Cybertronians. A mech with a triangular visor like hers sat at the clerk’s desk. He waved her over, starting to chat eagerly. “Hi there,” he greeted warmly, “How can I help?”

 

“UH,” Gadget said, “I NEED A REFILL ON MY ANTIDEPRESSANTS.” She handed him the bottle for him to check the prescription number and refill status. It was nearly half full, but she wanted to stay ahead of the game. The clerk took the bottle from her with nimble fingers and looked it over.

 

“Uh-huh,” he said, “I love your visor by the way, it’s fabulous! Where did you get it from? And the vocalizer mod too, that’s really pushing the envelope huh?” He shook his head, a smiley face flashing across his screen. “Who would’ve thought that visors were gonna become a trend, huh?”

 

Gadget slowly dropped her claws to hide them under the lip of the desk. “UH. YEAH.”

 

“So, where did you get your vocalizer modded?”

 

“COURTESY OF THE SENATE,” Gadget said coldly, and the mech stopped examining the bottle, looking back up at her. His screen was blank. 

 

“Oh,” he said, voice flat. “So you’re a… uh… yeah. Um. Well,” he sighed, putting the bottle on the counter. “Maybe go somewhere else for this? Supplies are kind of low. We might not have y’know, non-essentials like this.”

 

Gadget’s finials stood on edge and her screen fuzzed livid static. “YOU’RE REFUSING ME SERVICE?”

 

“I just said we might not have it,” the mech said sickly sweetly. “But if you’re going to get hostile, I’d like you to leave.”

 

“WAIT, WAIT,” Gadget said, spark pounding as she waved a claw. “WAIT A MINUTE. WE JUST FOUGHT ABOUT THIS FOR FOUR MILLION YEARS, IT CAN’T BE LEGAL FOR YOU TO DO THIS.” 

 

“Actually until they implement new laws, old ones take precedent,” the clerk said, spinning a pen in between his fingers. “I have the right to refuse service to empuratees. Ta-ta.”

 

Gadget swiped her bottle of medicine, fuming, and stormed out before she really hurt someone. After milling about, directionlessly angry, in front of the building, she started to stomp off to another clinic before pausing. She ignored the shadow formless creature standing in the alleyway next to her -- nearly double her size and leaning down gently to stare at her from the dark. Ever since she’d been completely sober -- not a drop of drugs in her -- she had started hallucinating when she was stressed. Especially in the dark. Nearly always in the dark. At first she had been terrified and confused -- nobody else saw these things? 

 

But now she just ignored them. She’d even given a couple of recurring ones names. The one standing next to her making gentle mooing noises was named Carl. (Truth be told, she actually kind of liked Carl.) 

 

She looked up at him and he tilted his head, yellow slits of light for eyes burning into her. He grunted softly.

 

“WHAT DO YOU THINK, CARL?” Gadget asked, shaking the bottle of medicine for emphasis. “WHERE SHOULD I GO?” He didn’t really give her an answer, which made sense because Gadget knew he wasn’t real. She sagged, still a little disappointed. “THEY’D PROBABLY JUST KICK ME OUT ANYWAY. RIGHT?”

 

“Mooff,” Carl woofed softly, shadowy form wavering. Gadget tuned out the weird looks passing bots gave her.

 

“YEAH,” Gadget said, “YOU’RE RIGHT. LET’S JUST GO HOME.”

 

She took herself back home, a small lean-to shack in the outskirts of the missile silo. She was one of the few Autobots here -- this was the place for the Autobots who didn’t have anywhere else to go. ReDouble had offered to put her up in his apartment -- had nearly insisted on it, not wanting her to be exposed to the elements and to hunger, but she had refused, not wanting to live in the same place as Capacitor for another goddamned second. Gadget slunk through smoggy alleyways and finally to her small, one-room shack, throwing aside the curtain-door and snuggling down onto her cushion-bed, throwing a blanket over herself and lying down to decompress. Carl mooed softly at her, squinched into a ball on the other side of the room as he stared at her.

 

“I KNOW,” She mumbled, voice grating on her audials in the small, quiet space. “I THINK THIS SUCKS TOO. I’M BORED AND I WANT TO GO BACK TO TEBBA. AND I WANT TO DO SCIENCE WITH REDOUBLE BUT HE’S ALL MISTER IMPORTANT IN THE CITADEL NOW AND THEY DON’T WANT ME BECAUSE I’M CRAZY.”

 

She didn’t get a reply, and looked up to see that Carl had vanished. Her finials flattened in irritation. “FINE. FUCK YOU TOO I GUESS.” 

  
  


\---------------------------------

  
  


Flux woke from recharge surrounded by warmth on all sides, and attempted to stretch. It was thoroughly impeded by ex-General Regus, who stretched in their sleep and fell back to rest against Flux. On her other side, ex-General Carapace shifted in cer sleep as well, and draped across Flux’s front, ex-General Oracle puffed out a vent. Piled on them were various members from vanguard and unit alike, and piled on  _ them _ … well, so forth and so on. The group had managed to carve out a small niche in the missile shell to claim as their own, and no matter how much Flux tried to refuse -- tried to allow someone else to fully enjoy the frame warmth of dozens of mecha -- her previous underlings refused. The pile shifted often, nobody left on the fringes for more than a few days before it switched, but Flux was always at the center. Dozens of other small piles of her units stretched out around them. They had scattered slightly, with only the core aspects of Flux’s circle remaining immediately close, but she had made sure they knew that they were welcome any time.

 

Carapace woke second, optics blinking open and flickering online. Cer smaller mandibles clicked in front of cer mouth idly, and the larger set that showed as bigger mandibles in cer second altmode decorated cer helm as antlers in root mode. “Mm… Major General, sir?”

 

“Morning,” Flux responded, yawning.

 

“How did you sleep?”

 

“Mm. Alright, I guess.” Flux shrugged, trying not to disturb the others. Oracle was snoring softly. Life in the missile silo was hard -- it was ugly, with little food and lots of infighting. Flux worked herself to the protoform daily scrounging as much food as she could for her units. The government had been little help at this point and while Flux knew that Bumblebee had his hands full, she would have liked to see a little more care paid to the people that they were supposed to be patching things up with. Prowl had elected to let a certain few Decepticons do the policing around the missile silo, but they seemed more like his personal thugs in Flux’s opinion. Maybe it was time to talk to Bumblebee -- to try and plead for more than scraps. Yes, times were tough -- but Flux could see Autobots walking around with at least the comfort of somewhere to stay that was their own and food in their tanks. She didn’t doubt that Bee was doing the best he could, but Bee wasn’t the only one in this new government, and not everyone was as good-sparked as he was.

 

Gently, Flux tried to extricate herself from the pile, successfully removing herself with little disturbance. Carapace stared up at her. “Where are you going?”

 

“I’m going to talk to Bumblebee,” Flux murmured softly, “We can’t live like this any more, not the whole missile silo. They want to patch things up but just the other day two ex-lieutenants killed each other over an empty cube of fuel.”

 

“I hate to be grim about matters,” Carapace replied, “but perhaps the Autobots are hoping we will simply kill ourselves off.”

 

“I can’t accept that,” Flux said, shaking her head, “and if that’s the case I’m taking you all off this planet as soon as I can manage.”

 

“Will they let us leave at this point?” Carapace murmured, cer face blank but cer field brimming with concern. “They implanted us with explosion chips.”

 

“One way or another I’m getting us off this planet if it comes to that,” Flux said firmly, finally stepping over the last foot to be free. “I didn’t get you all through a four million year war just to let you die of hunger and internal discord.” She bid Carapace a quiet goodbye and set off, through the missile silo and towards one of the drafty exits. She made it onto the street and didn’t miss the way that people cleared out of her way on the street almost comically exaggeratedly. She just largely ignored them and made it to the citadel, reminding herself that she had just as much right to speak to her government as anyone else. She had just as much right to be here, and she had just as much right to request better treatment. Whatever else she had done or been a passive accomplice to, she had the right to be treated like a person. She still felt chilling anxiety as she pushed open the door. She couldn’t feel her face or her hands.

 

She walked up to the desk and subtly twiddled her thumbs. “Hello,” she greeted, not missing the way that the clerk’s eyes widened. “I’d like to make an appointment to speak to Bumblebee, if that’s possible.”

 

“I, uh…” the bot said, clearly shaken, “Uh… I don’t know. Uh. Let me,” he cleared his throat, “let me talk to my supervisor.” He rang up the supervisor on comms, and Flux heard a shout from across the room.

 

“Hey!” Prowl shouted, storming over, “What the hell are you doing here menacing the front desk?”

 

“I’m not menacing anybody!” Flux said defensively, “I just came in to see if I could make an appointment with Bumblebee!”

 

“Run it by me first,” Prowl said, coming over to rest his elbow on the counter as he stood in front of her. “For security reasons.”

 

Flux cleared her throat. “Things are bad in the missile silo,” she summed up, “And I feel like the government isn't paying as much attention as they should.”

 

“We're working on it,” Prowl said shortly. Flux sighed in frustration.

 

“Prowl, two lieutenants killed each other over an empty cube just the other day,” Flux said, admonishing. “‘We're working on it’ really isn't cutting it. Either you don't know how bad it is-”

 

“Flux, I'm not an idiot-”

 

“-or you don't care,” Flux finished firmly, talking over him. “I know a lot of people -- including myself -- that are willing to bury the blaster but are starting to feel abandoned. You say you want to repair Cybertron with us, but it kind of feels like you just want us to lay down and die quietly, and that’s the extent to which you’re ‘working on it.’ Your problems aren’t going to just magically go away just because you starved your battered, surrendered enemy faction to death, Prowl. Yes, we broke the planet -- but you did too, and it’s up to both of us to come together and just figure out a way to fix it already.” Flux sighed. “I’m tired of fighting, Prowl,” she said, almost pleading. “Everyone is. Just because you’ve stuck us somewhere you don’t have to think about us doesn’t mean -- well, that you don’t have to think about us.” Flux looked him in the eyes now, desperate. 

 

“We’re starving. We’re cold and shivering. A lot of us need medical attention. The closest temporary clinic is thirty minutes away! While that might not seem like a lot to you, it’s a lot to the people that get injured in fights over food and have to wait thirty minutes for medical aid as they bleed out on the ground! If we had just had a clinic that was even twenty minutes closer, those two Lieutenants would have lived. Maybe you don’t care, but someone has to if things are going to get better. Stop punishing us extralegally and start punishing us in the courts -- where we deserve to receive judgement.” After her miniature speech, Flux crossed her arms.

 

Prowl frowned and cleared his throat. He knocked against the desk thoughtfully, chewing on his lip, and sighed. He looked over at the clerk, who had since gotten off comms. “Let her schedule it,” he said, clipped, and glanced at Flux one last time before walking away. She just tried not to sigh in relief until he looked away, and she received a scheduled appointment with Bumblebee a week from then.

 

She ended up in his office with two security guards watching the door. She was seated across from his desk, and he limped over to his chair, taking a seat and propping his cane against the desk. “Prowl mentioned that you have some complaints?”

 

“It’s ah, not quite as petty as that,” Flux corrected, head tilting to one side as she tried to smile disarmingly. “It’s just that  --” What was she doing? She was Major General Flux, rhetorician, orator, Decepticon! She cleared her throat and sat up in her chair a little. “It’s just that things are… really, really bad in the missile silo, Bumblebee.”

 

“Yeah,” Bumblebee said, scrubbing his hands over his face. “Yeah, I know, Flux.”

 

“Do you?” She challenged gently, eyes chasing his avoiding gaze. “Because I’m not sure you really do. I’m not sure  _ anyone _ in this Citadel  _ really _ knows.” She gestured around them with a circular hand gesture, looking up and around before returning her gaze to him. He frowned.

 

“We’re not the Senate, Flux,” he said.

 

“I know!” She said, arms crossing. “Believe me, I know. But Bee, they’re calling this the ‘Autobot regime’. And frankly…” she trailed off with a shrug, getting through a couple of false starts before managing to get it out. “Frankly, I’m a little inclined to agree at the present moment.”

 

Bumblebee recoiled in offended shock. “Flux!”

 

“I say that as someone who doesn’t want it to be like this,” Flux countered, eyebrows drawing down at his offense. “Bumblebee, people are  _ starving _ and  _ freezing. _ They’re dying left and right, they’re  _ killing _ each other. I have to watch  _ my people _ fight over  _ scraps _ like delirious turbofoxes infested with cybermange. I have to watch my people fight over barely enough scraps to survive off of without going into  _ stasis _ , and then I have to look out on the streets and see  _ Autobots _ walking around having food in their tanks and places to go home to.” She sagged in her seat, eyes wide as her eyebrows pulled up. “Where does it end, Bumblebee? Haven’t these people starved enough? I know the Decepticons have done terrible things, but Primus, that’s what a court system is for!” She leaned back in her seat and brought a hand to her brow, shutting her eyes in pained resignation. Her tanks pinged her as empty. She’d given her last full cube to her Generals to share without telling them it was her last three days ago, and her reserves were running dry. She was built for stamina and hardiness, but every bot had their limits -- and Flux’s big frame burned fuel. She had started sleeping more throughout the day to avoid her hunger, but in the hours she had to be up, it pursued her relentlessly -- just like it had in Lower Crestover. However, there weren’t any keg stands or siphoning bars to turn to now -- no atmosphere of community.

 

“I just…” she said, softly, “If you’re going to kill us all, at least have the decency to execute us quickly,” she murmured. “I can’t stand w-watching-” her voice broke, and she chewed on her lower lip. Her head pounded and she felt a bit faint from hunger, and she tried to ignore the gnawing in her tanks. “I can’t stand watching it anymore,” she managed, “it’s heartbreaking.” 

 

She lingered for a few moments and then dared a peek between her fingers. Bee looked genuinely moved, face arranged into a saddened, shocked expression. “Of course,” he said, matching her volume, “of course we’re going to do something. But Flux, I really don’t know how much I can do, we don’t have a lot of re-”

 

“Oh, bull _ shit,” _ Flux snapped, suddenly irate. The guards stepped forwards and Flux took a big breath, and then another, trying to wrangle her anger back down. It worked, and she waved her other hand, sighing. “Sorry. Sorry. Um. Yeah, thank you. Just… at least give us a clinic in the area, if you could.”

 

Bumblebee nodded, keen eye following her. “Everything alright? Granted, we aren’t the closest of friends to understate, but you seem… off.”

 

“I’m alright,” Flux tried to reassure. Bee stood, hands bracing on his desk.

 

“Hm,” he said, “why don’t you eat something while you’re here?” he asked. Flux smiled to reassure, wary about showing weakness in front of an Autobot. Bumblebee was a good bot, but she didn’t know about the two guards, and Prowl was a shrewd pragmatist for sure.

 

“That’s okay,” she said, waving a hand. “I appreciate it, but I have a little stash. Selfish, I know, but I try and share it as much as I can.”

 

“Alright,” Bee said, looking her over with a wary eye. “Well, it was uh, good to see you.”

 

Flux nodded, trying not to black out, and managed “you as well,” before walking out of his office. She was gratefully and pleasantly surprised that the security guards didn’t follow her before she remembered that she was technically a citizen now, so they wouldn’t have to. A wave of lightheadedness hit her and her tanks growled, and she stumbled to lean against a wall, optics fritzing. She blinked. If this kept up, she’d go into stasis. She’d almost forgotten what this gnawing feeling felt like -- though she could never really forget.

 

She decided to give herself a couple of seconds to recover. Breathing evenly, she leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the chewing pain in her tanks. She nearly jumped out of her plating when Virtue breezed up next to her, holding out a cube. “Take it,” he said, as she put a hand over her spark.

 

“Virtue, you scared me to death,” she breathed. “And I’m alright, I have some leftover rati-”

 

“I know for a fact that you don’t have any more rations, no one does,” Virtue said, scrolling through a hand-sized datapad as he shook the cube a little. “And someone like you? Absolutely not.”

 

Flux gently took the cube and cracked it open. She started to sip it, and then she caught herself before she fell into the trap of chugging it. She looked over at Virtue. “Thank you,” she said, “but why give me this?”

 

Normally, she wouldn't have even thought to ask, but it was Virtue. The jet waved a hand idly.

 

“Starscream and I are of a certain… indebtedness to you, shall we say? You kept him from harm's way quite a lot, and I thank you for that.”

 

Flux risked another sip, loathe to take the cube away from her mouth again. “Yeah, well…” she murmured, looking away. “Megatron was… too hard on him.”

 

“Megatron was wallowing in his own impotence,” Virtue said, rolling his eyes. “I never did care for simpletons.”

 

Flux snorted a laugh, eyes wandering down the hallway. “S'pose he was, wasn't he. God, he was such a radio tower, always having to control everything. He was pretty smart, but nobody in the  _ universe _ is as smart as he thought he was.”

 

“Quite,” Virtue agreed. “I have to leave you now, but take care of yourself. Hm?”

 

Flux nodded, sipping from the cube as she watched him turn around and go back where she’d come from, into the hallway snaking into Bumblebee’s office.

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


Virtue marched his way down to Bumblebee’s office, and threw open the double doors with a slight dramatic flair. “I don’t have an appointment with you,” he began, in spite of Bumblebee’s wide open, shocked mouth and the fact that he looked like he was about to protest. “But you’re going to listen to me anyways.” He closed the doors behind himself and sat in front of Bumblebee’s desk. “You need to get a handle on things, Bumblebee. People are nearly rioting in the streets.”

 

“Yeah, Flux just left here from chewing my audial off about it,” the beetle grumbled, although it seemed devoid of actual begrudgement. “Virtue, I promise we really are working on it, it’s just that --”

 

“You’re missing someone,” the jet noted idly, looking around.

 

“What?” Bee said, dumbfounded. “I don’t know what you mean.”

 

“I mean,” Virtue said, “you’re missing someone. In government, that is. Metalhawk is all well and good for diversity but, I notice there’s a distinct lack of Decepticons in the public eye. The people are feeling a little -- underrepresented, shall we say?”

 

Bumblebee cleared his throat, looking around. “Between you and me?” he said, tone leading, and Virtue made an intrigued “hm?” noise, gesturing for the beetle to... please do go on.

 

“I’ve been considering Flux for a leadership position,” Bumblebee murmured conspiratorially. “She’s level-headed, she’s popular in the right circles but able to at least appeal to the fanatics just by the nature of her badge, and she’s openly willing to let bygones be bygones. She’s a natural leader.”

 

“What an interesting choice,” Virtue said, softly. Then he waved a hand dismissively as his voice returned to normal volume. “It’ll never work, of course.”

 

“I -- what?”

 

“Flux spent her formative years in a socially idyllic, economically haggard commune,” Virtue explained, leaning back in his chair as one leg crossed at the knee. “And while her stint as Major General proved she has solid leadership instincts, her leadership is best utilized under the direction of someone else. Of course, advisors could fill this function, but Flux is dedicated to listening to each and every concern -- she would wear herself as thin as optic glass.” Virtue finished and subtly looked at his finger paint. “Trust me when I say that while she seems like a solid candidate, she has several debilitating shortcomings. She has massive self-doubt and dependency issues, no doubt cultivated by our… leader, shall we say? Hm. Where was I? Ah. Yes. She has devastating self-doubt issues, is a complete people-pleaser, and while she’s firmly entrenched in her beliefs, her beliefs might be too radical for both Decepticons and Autobots alike. Her policy about organics will distance most Decepticon supporters -- that is, her policy that organics are people and the genocide was staunchly wrong -- and her policy about socio-economics will distance quite a handful of higher-class Autobots who want things to go back to the way they were, so long as they are at the top.”

 

Virtue let out a vent, helm swivelling to look at a speechless Bumblebee. “I say all of this as someone who  _ likes _ her, Bumblebee.”

 

All Bumblebee could think to say was, “and what  _ is _ her policy on socio-economics?”

 

Virtue hummed out a laugh through his nose that was more of a sigh. “She lived in a commune, Bumblebee. Take a guess. She thinks everything can be solved through cooperation.”

 

Bumblebee made a noise like “eh, you got me there”, and tilted his head, flipping one palm up in a pseudo-shrug. “But Decepticon loyalty is a powerful thing, isn’t it? Wouldn’t they fall into line because she’s a higher ranker? And Megatron’s personal friend, at that?”

 

“Normally, yes,” Virtue said, nodding, “But Flux and Megatron haven’t been a cohesive unit for quite some time. Extremely off-the-books, Flux hasn’t even been an  _ official Decepticon _ for a long time.”

 

Bee’s face fell into shock and he dropped the datapad he’d just picked up onto the desk. “What?”

 

“Oh, he claimed it was something else,” Virtue waved a hand calmly, ignoring Bee’s shock and excitability. It was giving him a bit of a headache. “Megatron, that is. Claimed it was some… personally-sanctioned long-term mission. Nobody batted an eye. Tarn never even thought to question,” he chuckled with a half-laugh, as if jeering at the tank’s stupidity. “No, most people simply forgot about her, on the surface. If you ran in the right circles, you heard whisperings. Personally, I was quite surprised she and Megatron even talked about it at all.”

 

“If you keep talking to me, I think my voice is going to be stuck in a tone of absolute disbelief, but what do you mean  _ talked about it?” _

 

“I overheard him talking to Soundwave about controlling the issue,” Virtue said. “Very few people officially knew. I think Megatron was aware that he couldn’t pull her back without calling attention to the issue and he couldn’t send his lapdogs after her without martyring her. The best thing for his control over the army was to let her quietly slip away. Apparently, she and Megatron got into a fight over a telecall and she hung up on him, and blocked his personal and official comm signals.”

 

Bee let out a shocked little giggle. “Did she, now?”

 

“Are you really all that surprised?” Virtue said, looking over at Bumblebee as his claw delicately traced the desktop. “Because I wasn’t.”

 

“I mean…” Bumblebee shrugged helplessly. “Optimus mentioned some chatter uptick a while back, now that I think about it, some rumor about Flux deserting. We thought it was just baseless or misinterpreted.”

 

“It was quite real, as a matter of fact,” Virtue said, “Just not officially. Megatron quietly dropped her from the payroll and cooked the books, so to speak.” He cleared his throat. “But I digress. The point is, she isn't a good choice. Or rather, she's a good one, but not the best one. Decepticons need a face they know, one they at least trust to stick to old habits,” Virtue preened on Starscream's behalf. “And while Flux is certainly appealing to the class of Decepticons you  _ like, _ you need a leader appealing to  _ all _ of them so you command their respect.”

 

Bumblebee’s face soured. “I know where you’re going with this, Virtue. Starscream, really? Everyone hates him!”

 

“So harsh,” Virtue tutted, “But they have expectations of him, do they not? Ambitious-”

 

“Cutthroat,” Bumblebee cut him off, lifting a brow. Virtue sighed and waved a hand.

 

“It’s all about PR, little Autobot,” he said, as if pained. “And if there’s one thing I’m very good at, it’s PR -- especially for Starscream.”

 

“Virtue, come on,” Bumblebee said, “I can’t think about this right now. We’ve got those new ambassadors coming in you know, they’re making the arrangements to get them settled here, and soon. Hell, one of them’s even living here. They’re having to put in human-safe fixtures for him.”

 

“You can’t avoid it forever,” Virtue led, starting to get up, “But very well. I’ll see myself out.”

 

“Yeah, you do that,” Bumblebee muttered, only mildly miffed. Virtue huffed a chuckle through his nose, and took his leave, leaving the doors open behind himself.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Gadget lay in her lean-to, shivering under her blanket. Outside two mecha were fighting over something, screaming at each other and throwing punches. Gadget got up, dragging her exhausted frame up and accidentally bumping her long-empty bottle of antidepressants with her knee as she crawled to peek her helm out of her doorway. Illuminated by dim street lamps, two mecha viciously battled tooth and claw over a discarded syringe lying just a few feet away. It was filled with a softly glowing, blue substance. If Gadget had had a mouth, it would have gone bone dry in an instant. That was blue moon jubilance. Her brain shut down as reflex took over -- her datacable whipped out and her claws snatched the needle, cable returning to her as she ducked back into her lean-to.

 

She stared at the enchantingly blue substance, mesmerized by its soft, enticing glow. Her finials flattened as she thought of Haven, and glanced at her empty bottle of antidepressants. She still had a refill available. She could just… avoid the clinic that had screwed her in the first place.

 

Her finials drooped further when she recalled the clerk's harsh, discriminatory words to her. It appeared that visors or otherwise “empurata repair” aesthetics had become a bit of a fad… which Gadget didn't really understand since they still hated empuratees but what did she know.

 

She glanced back at the jubilance. Without even thinking, her line had already been punctured and she was carefully pressing the plunger down, shuddering. This was poor quality, diluted and impure. She'd been off of it for a while, so it still gave her a decent high…

 

She dropped the empty needle, nearly a blob of calm. She noticed that the two mecha had stopped fighting outside and were frantically overturning trash cans and pallets outside. Gadget subspaced the needle and lay back down, sighing. Then, a hand reached around her curtain and yanked it aside, revealing the hungry, crazed eyes of a fellow addict. Gadget froze, not exactly sure how to process this. Her finials flattened harshly.

 

“Where the fuck is it,” they growled, nearly too big to shove themselves into the little lean-to (Gadget had to crawl to avoid the ceiling.) 

 

“WHERE’S WHAT?”

 

“You know! The fucking needle! Where is it, bitch!”

 

“I DON'T KNOW, I'VE BEEN SLEEPING.”

 

“You're fucking lying to me,” they accused, and Gadget shook her head. 

 

“MAYBE YOUR FRIEND TOOK IT.”

 

That got him to buzz off, scrambling back to fight with his friend some more. In the scuffle, Gadget fled her little lean-to, disappearing down the alleyway and making sure to snatch her empty bottle of antidepressant. If she could refill her prescription and get it to a chemist, she could have a theoretically indefinite supply. She stormed her way down the streets and into a stopgap clinic, marching in and plunking the empty bottle onto the check-in desk. It wobbled and fell onto its side. “I NEED A REFILL ON MY ANTIDEPRESSANT.”

 

“Sure,” the clinician said, taking the bottle and studying the script, surprising the empurata a little bit. She’d been expecting more of a fight. They sighed, looking over it, and scooted their chair back to the dispensary drawers, humming as they rifled through to find her prescription. They produced it and wheeled their way back over, handing her a full bottle. “There ya go. Knock yourself out, take care of yourself.”

 

“UH… THANKS.” Gadget said, a little at a loss. She left the clinic a little dazed, and took a look at her bank account. She had enough to buy some, but she didn’t have enough, not enough required to hire a chemist. So she took to the datanet. The obvious next step was to learn how to cook it herself. She was a chemist too, after all, and how hard could it be to make the jump from bioweapons to drugs?

 

She found the parts she’d need for a jubilance cooker, and set out for the scrapyards immediately, prowling in the dark through piles of junk discarded. There were others here, hoping to find spare body parts (there weren’t any) or spare food (also, none.) Gadget ignored them all and picked over piles of trash, climbing mountains to get to things she might need. A filter from Lower Crestover, engraved with a personal message. Clearly some kind of gift for a loved one. She flipped it over, examining it, and ripped the tubes from either side of it, pocketing it. With some adjustments, she could make it into the drip-cooker she was hoping to make. It was the easiest way to make jubilance, according to her research. She followed the blueprint in her scavenging, having to substitute things like the glass vials for bowls. She could drill a hole in the bottom for drainage and cover it with filter mesh. She pocketed as much filter mesh as she could find, and nearly fell down a pile of scrap when she saw the tip of a discarded burner peeking out from a mound, scrambling over to it to wrest it from the offal. She turned it over and over, inspecting it, and shook it, listening for fuel. Some sloshed around, and she turned on the valve, hearing the hiss of gas. She sparked the igniter and flame leapt to life. She quickly shut it off so as to avoid wasting fuel. Why had this been discarded?

 

She inspected the burner. It had a note on it -- “property of Lockjaw -- if found, please return to” and the rest was smudged out. So this was lost.

 

Gadget subspaced it and checked her blueprints, mentally ticking off each item. Cooking vial? Check, substitute. Heat source capable of boiling liquid? Check. Filters for the drip brew process, and to strain impurities? Check, substitute. Container for the drug? Check. Fuel filter for the diluting agent? Obtained. Diluting agent itself? Gadget hummed thoughtfully. She checked a recipe. It said one could use fuel and water, but fuel was in tall demand these days. Water would have to do. That was obtainable enough -- there was water puddled everywhere. She’d just have to strain it and boil it.

 

She spent the walk home collecting water in cups or bottles she’d found, making her way back to her lean-to. It was nearly sunrise, and the two fighting mecha had left. Gadget quickly went back into her little home and settled in. She piled her materials in front of her, and looked at her antidepressant. Lexaprofine… she’d have to see what kind this made. She looked it up, and perused through forum posts. Lexaprofine could make either Green Bay or Blue Moon. Gadget looked up the cooking process to Blue Moon. 

 

She’d have to add an additional mineral in -- but it came in over-the-counter vent-clearer medication. So she subspaced all her things again, and made her way to a nearby clinic, making sure to avoid the two she’d already been to. On her way there, she thought about what she was doing. This wasn’t good for her. Haven would be so disappointed. But she hadn’t had a taste of jubilance in so, so long, and she felt so much better than she had in ages…

 

She started to think on the pragmatics. She couldn’t just hole up in her lean-to and cook her own stuff forever. That would attract attention. She had to get to a place with a little more security. But to do that, she needed money, and to get money, she could… she had no idea. No lab wanted to hire her because of her criminal record, and other places that had her skillset didn’t want her either. She was all but blacklisted from the mnemosurgery department (a dying science as it was anyways, which was just fine by her), and other workforces like dispatcher, janitor, food service worker and others barely got through her application before throwing it out -- also due to her record. No, she was shit out of luck.

 

Unless… she thought on it. Her tolerance had all but disappeared -- she could subsist on low levels of jubilance, enough to have some left over. And why couldn’t she sell it? Other people did. It was a good way to get some quick cash so she could get back on her feet. After all, she couldn’t just go running to ReDouble for some help. They hadn’t spoken in a while other than little checkups he always did, always over comms. She nearly stopped walking in the street, abruptly saddened. Her finials drooped. She… missed him. She missed him. He was her friend. Why hadn’t she gone to see him?

 

Later, she told herself, right now, focus. So she picked up her stride, marching into the clinic and ordering a few doses of vent-clearing medicine. After receiving it and giving ID to check, she walked out, a little at a loss. She could go cook drugs now, but was that all she wanted from this new life? To sit in a hole and make herself drugs until she finally overdosed one day?

 

She looked down at her claws, staring into the middle distance at them. She had the crazy thought to throw everything but her antidepressants out, to cast it all away, and she shivered, dread coursing through her. No, she couldn’t, not since she’d gotten that sweet taste again. Maybe she could visit ReDouble, if he wasn’t busy. She sent a comm. **:Hey, Ree. Are you free anytime soon?:**

 

The reply was nearly instantaneous.  **:Gadget, how are you? Are you alright? I haven’t heard from you in weeks. And yes, I’m free! Work gave me a day off today, and Capacitor’s out. Why don’t you come over? I’ll send you my address.:**

 

And he did. Gadget felt a glimmer of delight and hesitantly started off that way, heel clicks delicate on the sidewalk.

  
  


\---------------------

  
  


**_“NO!”_ ** Sunbeam screamed, jolting bolt upright at his desk, where he'd fallen asleep doing paperwork three hours ago. Hands shaking as he drew in heavy vents, he swallowed harshly and shook his head to clear it of the nightmares. He unscrewed the flask he'd fallen asleep nursing (his hangover was coming at him now that he was awake), and took a swig, hands shaking so badly he could barely recap it.

 

Always the same one. Always the same nightmare. Doubleshot's ship had proved to be deeply traumatic to the young doctor. Almost every member of the crew had been on drugs, and jubilance was often the drug of choice. For about a third of the crew,  _ Black Ore _ jubilance had been their drug of choice. They decayed like husks, as addiction and the drug took hold of them and they retreated further and further into themselves. As they grew closer to inevitable overdose and death, their eyes seemed to gray. They never blinked, and the fuel capillaries in their face slowly started to turn black in creeping vines up from their throat. In the final weeks, they turned into walkers.

 

Walkers were the worst, most horrifying thing Sunbeam had ever seen. They were moving bodies but dead brains. Walkers were doomed to die even if you pulled them off of jubilance. Going off cold would kill them within hours, there wasn't time to wean them off, and dying on the drug would take weeks. If someone was showing signs of being a walker, there was a quick evaluation on whether or not they could be saved. The answer was nearly always no. After that was determined, if the answer was no, they were automatically moved to hospice care. Sunbeam had moved one such patient himself. He had had the presence of mind to weep at his state, crying as he had been helped into his bed. He had softly cursed Sunbeam as a “fucking Con bastard” and didn't seem to know when he was, demanding the Cons release him because he was a proud Autobot and would die before he surrendered. Sunbeam had just done his best to soothe and his fellow doctor, Poena, had come to assist. Poena had long since foregone his badge for whatever reason, having served on a scavenger Decepticon ship as a medic. The next day, the patient, whose name was Lockjaw, didn't remember his emotional outburst and spent the day in a groggy daze, occasionally croaking for food at random intervals. 

 

Sunbeam looked over his chart for the day, trying to calm down from the nightmare he'd had. He had been in a dim corridor, surrounded by walkers, none of whom he could help.

 

He sighed, getting up, and turned on his FIM chip, sobering up. He exited his office, and started to make his rounds. Lockjaw was at the top of his list. He subspaced the list as he pushed open Lockjaw's door. A quick scan of his vitals monitors showed him as deep in recharge, even though his eyes were wide open and on. He was simultaneously awake and asleep -- lucid dreaming while awake. He didn't have much time left. The black veiny markings had burrowed all the way up his face, covering it in netting. An IV bag administered a timed dose of Black Ore. Lockjaw made a soft sighing sound and slowly turned to look at Sunbeam.

 

The doctor was well aware Lockjaw wasn't seeing him. “Good morning,” he murmured, coming over to check the patient's temperature and status. He took out a soft rag and some polish from his subspace and started to work on Lockjaw's badge. He knew that at this stage, Lockjaw would only be responding to stimuli in the basest part of his brain and was little more than a walking vegetable, but he knew that the dying Autobot would have been touched. Besides, the gentle rubbing probably felt pleasant. “Got to keep you looking sharp, hm?” 

 

He talked as he worked, taking care of Lockjaw and trying to make him as comfortable as possible. He narrated what he was doing, what the weather was like outside, and what the Autobots in charge were doing. Finally, he finished, and drew away, sighing. He gave Lockjaw a few hours at most. After bidding him a soft goodbye, the doctor left, closing the door behind himself. He caught a nurse in the hallway and updated them on the situation. After making his rounds, he retreated back to his office, where he deactivated his FIM chip and slumped into his chair, taking a sloppy drink from his flask once again. The room was spinning -- perhaps he should just sit here for a while. He quietly belched and groaned, putting his face in his hands. Drinking every day just to stay functional wasn’t healthy and he knew it. 

 

He looked at his schedule and swore under his breath. Prowl was due for an evaluation today and he was insufferable. He always had something nasty to say, always applying more and more pressure. Sunbeam cried snottily for a couple of minutes at the thought of facing him and pulled himself together, sobering up again and shaking himself out. He had ten minutes before the meeting, he might as well get some work done. He dropped the flask into his desk drawer and locked it, tucking the key away into his subspace. He sighed, getting out a patient chart and going over it, updating Lockjaw’s status. All too soon, a knock on the door sounded and Sunbeam cleared his throat.

 

“Come in,” he called, and Prowl opened the door. Sunbeam smiled tightly and rose. “Prowl! How good to see you.”

 

“You too,” Prowl said gruffly, and looked around the office. “Let’s get started, hm?”

 

“Indeed!” Sunbeam sat back down when Prowl did, and passed him reports of the clinic’s finances, activity, and prescriptions. “We’ve had a few walkers in the hospice ward. And a few euphorics.” he pursed his lips sadly before recovering. “We’ve been trying to find people to notify, but some of them are too addled to tell us.”

 

“Mhm.” Prowl did look a little bit softer at that. “Which ones?”

 

“Lockjaw of Tally River is in hospice,” Sunbeam started, “he doesn’t have much time left at all. I’d be shocked if he makes it through the night. He’s lucid dreaming while he’s awake and his brain is all but dead. He’s been a walker for a few weeks. There are also a couple of euphorics, I can get you their names. If you could notify friends or spouses, that would be just…” Sunbeam sighed, scrubbing his face with his hands. “... just stellar.”

 

“You’re drunk,” Prowl accused, causing Sunbeam to jerk his helm back. 

 

“What?”

 

“You’re absolutely  _ sloshed. _ I can  _ smell it _ on your  _ breath.” _

 

“I am not! We have this argument every time! Prowl, my FIM chip is fully active and functioning and I am not drunk!”

 

“Have you been drink _ ing?” _ Prowl led, leaning his helm forwards and to the side a bit. Sunbeam swiped a hand at him irritably. 

 

“No,” he said, cross. “I have not. Can we get back to business, please?”

 

“If you’re drunk on your job, it affects your patients!”

 

“I would  _ never _ drink when I see a patient!” Sunbeam snapped, offended. “What kind of doctor do you think I am! Are you going to do your inspection so it’s done or are we going to argue about this the whole time! You can scan me yourself, I’m not drunk. My fuel-engex content is absolutely zero.”

 

“Zero?” Prowl said, raising a brow.

 

_ “Zero,” _ Sunbeam snipped, getting up. “Now are you going to come with me on rounds or not?”

 

Much to Prowl’s grudging chagrin, the clinic passed with flying colors, and Sunbeam watched him leave, sagging tiredly as he stood in the lobby. Poena drifted up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You look tired.”

 

“I am tired,” Sunbeam said, “I have some more paperwork to take care of, hm? Can you get me the report on the patient in room 367 before you go for the night?”

 

“Yeah, of course.” Poena patted his shoulder, his voice monotone. The other doctor often looked slightly off. He held his body awkwardly at rest, and he had a high collar fairing, almost chokingly so. Sunbeam thanked him and shuffled away, grumbling as he scrubbed his face. The second his skidplate hit his chair, his FIM chip was off, and he was unlocking his desk drawer to take another hearty swig of old corroder. He coughed and made a face -- he hated the taste but it did its job well -- and put it away again, starting in on his paperwork once more. Hours passed like minutes. The door started to open and Sunbeam blearily looked up at it, his vision swimming. 

 

“Whuh?”

 

“I have that report you asked for,” Poena said, holding it out as he approached. Sunbeam got up, bracing himself on the desk and trying to be subtle about it. If he didn’t move his feet, he wouldn’t fall over.

 

“Thank you,” he said, trying not to slur. Poena tilted his helm.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“Jus’ tired,” Sunbeam slurred anyways, offering a smile. “Jus’ really tired.”

 

“You’re drunk,” Poena guessed, and Sunbeam deflated.

 

“Only a little,” he said, “only a little…”

 

“It’s more than a little,” Poena said, his voice still gentle. His face was flat, his voice even flatter. “You can barely stand up, Doctor. Here, come home with me tonight. You can sleep it off on my couch.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Sunbeam said, nodding blearily as he rose, following his colleague out after gathering his things. He fell into a deep, drunken sleep on one of Poena’s living room couches, snoring into his elbow as the other doctor laid a blanket over him.

  
  



	2. More Than Meets the Eye (Or Visor!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gadget's run into some trouble with old acquaintances, meets some new friends, and tries to make sense of her new life. Flux has to make a troubling decision -- more than one. Virtue's just trying to juggle the arrival of the new human ambassadors along with all of his other duties.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> possible trigger warnings:
> 
> mentions of drug use and relapse throughout as Gadget struggles with staying sober and has fallen off the wagon.
> 
> mild recreational drug use in the form of edibles mentioned.
> 
> transphobia/misgendering warning starting with the lines "Johnson Barrow waited..." and ending with "that is my real fucking name, you fucking reprobate..."
> 
> police violence via arrest and subsequent panic attack from the arrestee starting with the line "Prowl put himself out of park and followed..." and ending with the lines "Prowl exclaimed in disgust and left the room..."
> 
> i can't think of anything else, but if you need anything tagged please let me know!
> 
> \-----------------
> 
> also, there's a bit of actual Neocybex in here! I've developed the language and started to create my own version of it, and one of the sections does have me flexing my language skills a bit, lmao. i'll have translations in the end notes! the bolded parts of words are to denote subgylphs, which are supposed to be just subscripts. unfortunately, porting this from google docs kinda did me dirty. alas!

Gadget left ReDouble’s apartment late that night, opening the door to the street just in time to run into Capacitor. Her finials flattened, and they both stood there, frozen in the just-starting-to-chill evening air. Capacitor’s yellow eyes flicked over her and her mouth twitched.

 

“Gadget,” she said, “you look like shit.”

 

“FUCK OFF,” Gadget said, starting to walk past her. Capacitor put a hand out flat to Gadget’s chest and barely pushed, keeping her there. Gadget was rigid, plating just barely rattling with every muscle cord tight as fine wire stretched thin. Capacitor stared her down, her own plating rising in a threat.

 

“What,” she said, “are you doing in my house? Stealing shit? You look like you’ve developed a drug habit -- oh, again. My bad. Getting clean is so hard, isn’t it.”

 

“GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF ME,” Gadget grated out. Capacitor took in her barely shaking frame and snorted derisively.

 

“I don’t have to listen to someone who’s fuckin’ stamped,” she said, and started to push harder, intending to knock Gadget back. The empurata started to lunge forwards, claws snapping wide to prepare for their victim, and Gadget saw the plane’s luminous yellow eyes widen in shock, as if she was just now processing that Gadget truly _was_ a changed person from prison and long-term drug use. Surprise, that was.

 

“Hey!” ReDouble shouted from the stoop, one hand gripped around the doorjamb as he leaned, using his grip as an anchor. “Stop! Both of you!”

 

Gadget froze, and so did Capacitor, both of them looking to ReDouble. The scientist pouted, brows drawing down. “Capacitor, get inside. Stop bothering Gadget.”

 

“I -- what-” Capacitor sputtered, gesturing to where Gadget was clearly poised to strike, rooted to the spot like stone, staring expectantly at ReDouble. The microscope scowled at his conjunx, adjusting his footing to cross his arms.

 

“I know full well that you probably started it,” he said, pointing between the two of them. “Gadget, are you sure you don’t want somewhere to stay for the night? You look terrible.” Gadget relaxed, shaking her head as she glanced at Capacitor. ReDouble waved a hand. “She won’t be a problem,” he said, and stared pointedly at Capacitor, “Will you, dearest?”

 

Capacitor coughed and shuffled from foot to foot, looking away. “No,” she mumbled, cowed. ReDouble sent a very sweet smile Gadget’s way, and her spark was warmed at the efforts he was willing to go to for her. Still, she shook her helm, feeling as if she would infringe. Carthex wasn’t like that. People took advantage of hospitality, and she didn’t want to be a freeloader.

 

“NO. BUT THANK YOU. I… I APPRECIATE IT.”

 

“Well, alright,” ReDouble said, frowning a little. “But if you decide to take me up on it, just come knock on my door. I’ll make sure _this one,”_ he said, pointing at Capacitor, “lets you in without a fuss.”

 

Capacitor pouted, turning her helm away from Gadget. ReDouble waved the plane inside. “Come in, dear, it’s getting cold. Gadget, please be safe. Find somewhere warm. I’ll leave my door unlocked for the night.”

 

Gadget nodded, flashing a smiley face on her screen, and turned away, walking down the sidewalk. The sun was quickly setting, the new planet’s fresh atmosphere lighting up in brilliant streamers of sunset. Gadget nearly tripped over her own feet looking up at it as she walked, as the blocks she walked gradually became more and more disheveled until she was prowling her usual stalking grounds. She slipped into the back alley where her lean-to was and stopped dead in shock, finials standing straight up in alarm. Her house was in shambles, cracked planks and splintered walls lying in ruins, the cloth door ripped open and laid across the alley. She looked up at the quickly retreating culprits and recognized them as the druggies from earlier, the ones who’d been fighting over the syringe. Without thinking, she gave chase, tearing off after them and shouting. They made it to the street and transformed, tires burning rubber, and she transformed to speed off after them. She was fast, but they were faster, hyped up by both mechadrenaline and nitro-mods, blowing smoke in her grill and blue flame. They rounded a corner and another corner and she lost them, transforming to run, then jog, then walk to a stop, slumping. Her finials drooped, and she turned around to go trudge back to ReDouble’s until she found (or built) another lean-to. Those two had probably been looking for drugs, thinking she’d had some.

 

“Hey,” someone said, catching her attention. She looked around, until she saw a low building to her left, seemingly sculpted from the metal ground itself, held together by thick welds at the corners. The bottom of it sloped into the ground. A person was waving from the window to the right of the door. “Hey, you alright?”

 

“FINE,” Gadget said, finials flattening. “THEY JUST SMASHED MY HOUSE IS ALL.”

 

“Oh, hell,” the person said, leaning back to look inside. “Says they smashed her house, yeah. Yeah, yeah, for sure! Put some more fuel on the fire.” They turned back to her, and leaned a little further out of the sculpted window. “Say, if you wanna come inside, we don’t got much but I’m sure we could make do. It’s warm in here, at least.”

 

Gadget thought on it, engine purring. ReDouble’s house was almost an hour away walking, and she didn’t want to waste any more precious fuel by tearing ass down the streets. It seemed she was stranded here -- so she might as well take shelter somewhere warm. She started to accept, then paused. “I’VE GOT A MINER’S DRONE,” she said, “HOW DOES THAT FACTOR IN?”

 

“Huh?” the person said, eyes narrowing, “What d’ya mean?” Gadget lifted her claws up to eye level and clicked them, and awareness dawned on the person’s face. _“Oh!_ Hell, we don’t care if you’s stamped, that’s alright. You gotta sleep too, right? Come on inside.” They left the window, and the door opened, with them standing to the side of the doorway. They smiled brightly and beckoned her inside, and she took them up on it, walking through the door into the house. It was one-room, small.

 

“My name’s Chug,” the person who’d let her in said, placing a hand on their chest. “That’s Flight,” they claimed, pointing to a dump truck sitting in front of a metal garbage can they’d apparently dragged in. Fire flickered from it. “Flight” waved and went back to chatting with his buddies, two more mecha. “That there’s Hock,” Chug said, and Hock, a big cargo plane, turned from where her back was faced to Gadget and waved, turning back to the fire. “And that mad bastard there is Keeper. Rumor has it, he killed a mech with his left pinky digit,” Chug said, grinning. Gadget nodded, and Keeper grunted at the fire, poking it with a stick. He was seated next to Hock, a Gadget-sized gap in between them. Chug had a clearly empty spot next to Flight.

 

“Well, we don’t gotta stand here in the doorway all night,” Chug said cheerfully, throwing the door closed with a bang. It made Gadget jump. A bright purple Decepticon badge glittered on his chest, matched by the one on Keeper’s shoulders. “Here, come on, get yourself situated by the fire, get comfy. We was just all keg sippin’ before you came in. Want some fuel? Hock, pass me the jug for the guest.”

 

Hock paused in what she was doing and lifted a jug that sloshed, passing it over to Chug before they sat down. An Autobrand gleamed on her chest. Chug thanked her and gestured for Gadget to sit down. They had parking bumpers as seats that had clearly been dragged away from parking lots or scrapyards. Chug passed her the jug of fuel and smiled brightly. “We don’t got cups, so you’s gonna have to make do with drinkin’ out of the jug. That alright by you?”

 

Gadget nodded, taking the heavy jug in her claws. Chug didn’t let go until she had it, and their grip was gentle when their fingers brushed by to let go. Gadget opened the cap and dipped her face close, extending her proboscis in the fuel. Chug grinned and took out a bag that crinkled, eating some gummies from it. “We-”

 

“You’d better lay off those gummies or you’s gonna be whacked out of your damn mind,” Keeper muttered. Chug didn’t look the slightest bit chastised until Keeper said, “save some for the rest of us.”

 

“Right, sorry,” Chug said, putting the bag down as Gadget drank. Relief coursed through her as her tanks slowly filled. “Damn, you was empty, huh! What’s your name, stranger?”

 

“GADGET,” the empurata said while still drinking, and Chug gasped, eyes wide. Hock glanced over to her as well, curious.

 

“You from Lower Crestover?” Chug asked, brightly. Gadget shook her head, and Chug drooped just a little. They were still pretty excited. “Oh. That just sounded like a real Lower Crestover name, y’know. Yeah, we’s just a buncha guzzlers ourselves, nobody’ll hire a crew like us. _No manual labor,_ they said, _we don’t need it._ First of all, they didn’t even bother to listen to the fact that Hock was a librarian before the war!”

 

Gadget glanced over to Hock, and the cargo plane nodded, smiling. “It’s true,” she said, “I’s the best librarian in Tally.”

 

Gadget nodded, absorbing this. Her tanks pinged as full, and pleasantly overstuffed, she put the jug down. Hock kept speaking. “I -- Chug, pass me the gummies, will you? Thanks. I had the best filing system this side of the planet.” Their accents were all sharp, choppy, percussive, but they also had a certain twang. “And,” she said, “I forgave people’s late dues, hand to Primus.”

 

Murmuring rippled through the group, decidedly pleased. Chug laughed. “That you did! Marked up at the elbow creases for sure. So what about you, Gadget? What’s your story?”

 

Gadget looked around at the expectant eyes on her, and looked into the fire. Hock offered her the bag. “Gummy?”

 

The empurata stared at it. “WHAT’S IN THEM?”

 

“Oh, they’s just cloud gummies,” Flight said, easily. Gadget tilted her helm at him, curious. “Y’know, cloud gummies? Pink Cloud.”

 

“JUBILANCE?”

 

“Yeah, yeah! It’s just for passing around with some friends. S’not like some of those other ones, y’know, Black Ore or White Flower or, whatever else they come up with these days. S’pretty harmless. Just makes you have a little fun, is all.”

 

Gadget shrugged, and reached in, taking one. It was a translucent gummy, and she hesitantly brought it to her intake, feeding it to the little grippers as they dismantled it down her intake. She quietly thanked Hock, who was delightfully warm from her body mass and the fire, and cleared her vocalizer. “I, UH, I WAS A MINER IN CARTHEX,” she said, and all eyes were on her. “I CHANGED MY FRAME TO THIS WHEN THE WAR STARTED. I DO COMPUTERS.”

 

“Gadget of Carthex,” Chug said, tapping their chinpiece. “Gadget of Carthex, where’ve I heard that name before? Flight, you know what I’m thinkin’ of, right? This name ring a siren to you?”

 

“Gadget of Carthex,” Flight said, and then pointed at her, awareness dawning on his face. “You was that programmer who went to prison, right? Murder?”

 

Gadget squinched in on herself, expecting to be kicked out. “YEAH.”

 

“Ah,” the various mecha around her said, mumbling to themselves. Chug leaned forwards, balancing their elbows on their knees. “So why’d you do it?” they asked, curious.

 

“I DIDN’T,” Gadget said, “I GOT FRAMED.”

 

Gasps ripped through those assembled, and immediately, people were laying hands on her. Hock was patting her shoulder, Keeper had laid a hand on her thigh, and Chug had tried to reach around Hock to pat Gadget’s helm in between her finials. Flight looked truly distressed by the fact that he couldn’t offer physical comfort. “Hell,” Hock said, as the hands lingered. Gadget was rigid tense at the sensation. “That’s terrible. What happened?”

 

“MY COMMANDER FRAMED ME,” Gadget said, “SHE NEVER LIKED ME. SHE WANTED TO GET ME OUT OF THE WAY. I SAW HER KILL OUR PREVIOUS COMMANDER. I’M STILL NOT SURE IF IT WAS AN ACCIDENT OR SHE JUST WANTED TO CLIMB THE LADDER.”

 

“Oh,” Flight gasped into his hands, as they were still covering his mouth. “Oh, my god. She sounds selfish as all get-out.” Hearty murmurs of agreement sounded, accompanied by nods of conviction. Gadget shrugged with one shoulder, and Hock rubbed at her back between her wheels. Admittedly, it felt a little good. Hock then leaned down and grabbed the jug, and presented it to Gadget.

 

“Here,” she said, “why don’t you drink some more? It’s good fuel. We all donated some.”

 

Gadget shook her helm. “I’M FULL, ACTUALLY. BUT THANK YOU. SMALL TANKS.” The air dampened, and the four other mecha looked around at each other, eyes meeting. Gadget’s finials flattened harshly and she tensed. “WHAT?”

 

“No reason to get a little frosty,” Chug said, sulking into the fire. “We’s just offerin’.”

 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

 

That shudder again. Now, it was more discomfiting to the group, and Keeper withdrew his hand from Gadget’s frame, returning to his upright sitting position and looking at the fire. Hock frowned. “Sweetspark, why you gotta use the formal ‘you?’ We’s all friends here, right?”

 

Gadget’s finials shot straight up. “OH. WAIT. THAT’S THE PROBLEM?” she looked around at the group, scouring their faces. “I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO DO THAT? THAT’S WHAT YOU DO WITH STRANGERS, RIGHT?”

 

“Yeah, if you’s got a waste port tighter’n -- **_OW!”_ ** Chug yelped, cut off from their muttering by Flight elbowing them in the side. “What was that for, you stinkin’ oily bastard?”

 

“She don’t know, don’t hold that against her,” Flight said, gesturing to Gadget. Then, he turned to her. “In Lower Crestover, we don’t use the formal ‘you’ unless you don’t like somebody, or they’s in a higher caste than you. Seein’ as how castes aren’t a thing no more, we’s all using casual ‘you’ with each other, got it? Feels a little frosty when you use the formal one with strangers, you look like a snob.”

 

“GOT IT,” Gadget said, warily. “SO IT’S NOT THAT I DIDN’T WANT THE FUEL?”

 

“No,” they all chorused, waving it away. “No, no,” Chug affirmed, “we was just thinkin’ that, here we is, lettin’ you in to drink with us, and you’s still soundin’ like you don’t know us from Dent. A bit rude, yeah?”

 

“I GUESS,” Gadget hedged. “SORRY.”

 

“Well hell, we’s not some selfish gearsticks,” Hock said, “Current under the updraft. It’s fine. Another gummy?” she offered the bag again. Flight whistled.

 

“I want it after her,” he said, “toss it this way.”

 

“Got it,” Hock said, and proffered the bag to Gadget. Gadget gladly took another one, feeling like the first one might be working. She did feel a little more relaxed. She popped the second one in her intake, and Hock lobbed the bag to Flight. Flight thanked her and ate a small handful. Keeper tapped Gadget on the shoulder, pointing to the fuel jug.

 

“I’ll just have a sip,” he said, taking it and drinking from it. He put it on his lap to continue chatting with Chug, and Gadget leaned back a little. It wasn’t actually so bad being here. Chug and Flight and Hock and Keeper were actually… really nice. Gadget hadn’t ever really felt this thing in the air before, whatever it was, it was warm and close and familiar, like she was a part of a family clan with them. This was shockingly different from Carthex. Sure, people were close and shared amongst friends, but there was always an undercurrent of “I’ll pay off my debt to you later”. Sharing was a currency. Here, it was a gift. She huffed air through her vents and leaned her helm back, offlining her visor. The stress hanging over her seemed to melt away.

 

“Y’alright, little drifter?” Hock said. Gadget bobbed her head limply to nod. “Cloud gummies hittin’ you?”

 

Another nod. Hock chuckled and patted her shoulder. It shook her body and made it sway. “Maybe lay offa them for now, then, you’s a teeny little thing.”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget agreed, and then sat back up. “HOW LONG CAN I STAY?”

 

“You’s wantin’ to leave already?” Chug half-joked, “Surely we ain’t that bad?”

 

“NO,” Gadget said, finials flattening. “I JUST WANT TO KNOW HOW LONG I CAN STAY.”

 

“Oh, hell, like we’s gonna kick you out in the cold,” Flight said, shaking his helm. “You can stay as long as you like, little drifter.” It seemed Hock’s impromptu nickname had caught on. Gadget hummed, a little confused.

 

“FOR HOW MUCH?” She asked, and confused glances met her.

 

“What?” Keeper said, summing the others’ concerns up.

 

“YOU KNOW,” Gadget said, “WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO TO PAY IT OFF?”

 

“Pay it off!” Hock said, almost scandalized as she looked to her friends. “What, like we’s gonna extort you in this economy?”

 

Gadget flapped her claws in frustration that she wasn’t getting her point across, entire body violently moved by the stim. It helped release her frustration. “NO. I MEAN THAT EVERYTHING HAS A PRICE.”

 

‘We don’t do that kinda thing here,” Chug said, “I mean, we might just be a few dumb guzzlers, but hell, we’s got sparks, at least. Stay here as long as you like, little drifter. Why’s you so concerned about payin’ it off, and the like?”

 

“I JUST.” Gadget sighed and looked away. “CARTHEX ISN’T LIKE THIS. PEOPLE EXCHANGE FAVORS AND YOU ALWAYS PASS THE DEBT TO SOMEBODY ELSE WHEN YOU CAN. AND PRISON IS LIKE THAT, TOO.”

 

Hock, Flight, Chug, and Keeper all looked at each other. “That sounds downright terrible,” Keeper summed up, “what with all that keepin’ track and everything. Like we’s just gonna let you spin the turbines and come up with smoke -- pah!” He spat off to the side in distaste. “Nah, I don’t got a black mark on my moral record yet and I’s not lookin’ for one,” he said, pounding his chest to affirm. There were three other choruses of “aye!” and the other mecha lifted their hands briefly as if toasting.

 

“SO, WHAT,” Gadget said, “I JUST STAY AND… LIVE HERE?”

 

“Hell yeah, little drifter, if you’s so inclined,” Hock said cheerfully, nudging her with an elbow. It made her whole body sway gently. “We’d be happy to have you.”

 

Gadget fidgeted, a little unsure about how to feel about that. It was admittedly very flattering. She decided to just take her blessings as they came. “THANKS.”

 

“Sure thing,” Keeper said, and Chug yawned.

 

“I don’t know about you guys,” they said, “But I’s feelin’ just as tired as a bitch. I’s gonna be headin’ to bed.” They got up and bowed dramatically, grinning. “It has been a pleasure drinking with you merry lads tonight,” they said, mimicking a stuffy Vosian accent, formal pronouns and all. Boos and jeers met their imitation and Flight found bits of trash to chuck at his friend.

 

“Get off the stage,” he called, using his hands as a megaphone. “You suck!”

 

“Damn,” Chug laughed, tottering their way over to the other side of the room, where different mats were laid out. They went over to one of them and laid down on their back, then turning on their side to face the wall and seemingly going to sleep. Hock, Keeper and Flight all turned back to the fire and the group. Keeper stood up, placing the jug aside.

 

“I think I’s gonna follow Chug,” he said, sighing brightly, “I’s feelin’ a bit worn out myself.”

 

“Methinks you’s all worn out from keepin’ that girder beam up your exhaust,” Flight said, idly beaning more trash his way. Keeper threw it right back at him.

 

“And methinks you’s got a girder beam through your brain, but you don’t see me talkin’ shit,” he said, going over to the mats to lay down on one with his head near Chug’s feet. Hock snickered as Flight stuck his tongue out over at Keeper and grumbled good-naturedly at the fire. Then, he looked up.

 

“Oh,” he said, “fuck. Little drifter, you’s out of a bed.”

 

“I’ll give her mine,” Hock volunteered, and Flight drew back, placing a hand over his chest.

 

“I was gonna give ‘er mine,” he said, “You’s always beatin’ me to that kinda thing.”

 

“Gotta be faster, then,” Hock said, and then looked at Gadget. “Don’t worry about bein’ picky on the bed situation, little drifter. We just pick whichever one we feel like at night. You sleepy?”

 

Gadget thought on it, and nodded a little. Admittedly, she was tired. Being around such cheerful, high energy people, as fun as it was, could be a little draining. Hock smiled at her, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Yeah, I thought so, you look it. Well, go’n and go pick one, then, have a good night’s rest. Want us to wake you up when Primus opens his eyes?”

 

“WHAT?”

 

“In the morning.”

 

Gadget shrugged. “NOT SURE. THIS IS ALL NEW. I NEED TO PROCESS IT.”

 

“Got it,” Hock said, and waved. “Well, goodnight, little drifter. Sleep good.”

 

“Yeah, night,” Flight said, waving as well. “Don’t let the scraplets bite.”

 

Gadget lay down on the berth under one of the back windows, relaxing into the meager cushion. This was nice. Before she started to doze off, she sent a comm to ReDouble. **:I'm warm and safe.:**

 

As she drifted, Hock and Flight chatted quietly, watching the last dregs of the fire. “Hey,” Flight murmured, “you remember ol’ Here-all-week, right? From Hema?”

 

“Do I!” Hock said, seemingly amused. “What you bringin’ him up for?”

 

“Little drifter over there's the spittin’ image,” Flight said, and Hock snorted.

 

“You's just sayin’ that because he were stamped,” she said, slightly accusatory. Flight made an offended noise.

 

“Like hell I is! I'm sayin’ because he were just as skinny, you coulda snapped him in half like a stick. Sayin’ that because he were stamped -- what do you think I's bein’, some kinda stamp licker? Eat hot glass. Anyways, you remember when he got stamped in the first place?”

 

“Was kinda funny,” Hock said, and Gadget tensed. They didn't seem to notice. “I mean, obviously not the stampin’, and whatnot, just-”

 

“-how he got it,” Flight finished, “right, right. He was all like ‘but that council member is a-lyin’ and a-hollerin’ and I ain’t gonna stand for it!’”

 

“What was that council member even hollerin’ _about?”_

 

“Somethin’ about how Here-all-week was a thief, I dunno. Shame the poor bastard got stamped.”

 

“Weren't he, though? A thief, that’s is.”

 

“In mine own humble opinion,” Flight said, mocking a Vosian accent again before slipping back his own, “It's not thievin’ if you's already the owner. Here-all-week was gettin’ extorted so he could keep that turbofox place of his open, the racer hounds. He just said he didn't have enough money, remember?”

 

“Oh, yeah! Cute puppies.”

 

“Cute puppies,” Flight agreed, and that was the last thing Gadget heard before she dropped into sleep.

 

\----------------------

 

Johnson Barrow waited by the space bridge room’s door, tapping his foot impatiently. He was waiting for his aide, some impish young kid by the name of West McLambert. His superiors had explained that West was apparently phenomenal with these… overgrown Roomba’s languages, and as such would function as his translator for now. Johnson had never met the boy, but apparently he was somewhat of a young prodigy. As long as he was competent.

 

Heels clicked and echoed down the hall, and someone lithe strutted over to Johnson, their platinum hair arranged in beachy waves down to their chin. Upon closer look, they seemed to be a young girl. She extended her hand to Johnson when she stopped in front of him, dressed in the translator-ambassador’s uniform. “West McLambert of Statsin, Iowa,” she said, and shook his hand firmly as he rose. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

 

“You’re West?” Johnson said, looking down the hallway, expecting this to be a prank. “They said West was a young boy.”

 

A muscle flexed in West’s jaw. “I am,” she said, lightly, and Johnson snorted, looking her up and down.

 

“Alright,” he said, crossing his arms. West interrupted him.

 

“Shall we go? I imagine they’re waiting for us in the Citadel,” she said, gesturing to the space bridge room with a tight smile. “It’s terribly rude to keep a nascent ally waiting.” Without waiting for Johnson, she started to walk in, opening the door and holding it for him just long enough for him to get a grip on it before walking over to the attendant. _“Jachteis! Hoyk t’estap quu?”_ [1]

 

Johnson glanced at West in alarm, glancing back to the person she was speaking to. They looked like a completely normal person, sitting at the control console. Why was West speaking what sounded like robot language to this person?

 

 _“Wiich_ ** _kasoon_ ** _,”_ the person said, beaming, much to Johnson’s shock. They had buzzed short hair and a thick build. _“Io t’estat ghennal_ ** _ma_** _, io t’estat ghennal_ ** _ma_** _!_ _Quu **te**?” _[2]

 

“Ah,” West said, leaning against the console and waving a hand. _“Quu p’lylarap. T’estal beh cyachvrig, uh, t’estal yrewam?”_ [3]

 

“Oh,” the person said, turning back to the console to peck at a few buttons. _“Iya, iya. K’checkmare ka_ wreim **dekla**.”[4]

 

 _“Kyantmas!”_ West said, and patted the person’s shoulder. Then, she looked back at Johnson, the smile dropping from her face. “They say the spacebridge is good to go. We can go on through.” [5]

 

“Oh, good,” Johnson said, collecting himself. West opened the door to the bridge chamber and walked through, as the tunnel started to glow and collect spinning wisps of green light. Johnson rushed to stand by her as the door shut behind him. “So, was that guy …?”

 

“They were Cybertronian, yes,” West said, standing tall and proper. “That’s Yakkers of Hema. Very nice, but then again people from Hema and Tally usually are. Lower Crestover in general was apparently a pleasant place. Are you ready?”

 

“What do I do?” Johnson said, at a loss, and he glanced at the swirling vortex. When he looked back at West, she was smirking, as if she couldn’t wait to charge through.

 

“Just go,” she said, and started walking. Johnson sputtered and hurried after her, watching her form disappear in the wispy green lights. He felt as if he was dissolving from atoms, and his vision swirled for a moment as nausea took hold. When it cleared, he was in a massive -- and he meant massive -- room with impossibly high ceilings, impossibly high command consoles. The air was crisper, with a bite, and smelled like metal. West took a deep breath in and closed her eyes, seeming to soak it in. She muttered something in robot language and smiled, before opening her eyes. On the right wall, the door opened, and heel clicks amplified by a hundredfold sounded. Around the door, a slim, grayish bot came around, yellow eyes searing into them. Their face was drawn into a neutral frown. West beamed, walking forwards. _“Firchoi **wamai**!"_ she greeted, bowing dramatically. Johnson hurried to bow as well. _“Neh hoyk t’estal quu **te**? Ghennal **lema** , io **te** p’lairat?”_[6]

 

 _“Wiich **kasoon** pabe **statsin** ,”_ the robot greeted, voice drawling and self-important. _“Hoyk ghennal ue t’ayesir quu **te**. Quu **te** k’seingrat ghennal **lema**.”_[7]

 

Johnson cleared his throat, deciding to try his hand at this robot language. He’d learned a different dialect than the kid… he regarded the towering metal creature in front of him and suddenly longed for the simpler days of speaking Russian at world meetings with a Russian ambassador or two. “Eh,” he fumbled, hesitantly, _“Io, k’nennareat ilen …wu…”_ Irritatedly, Johnson watched West -- watched her eyes nearly pop out at the floor, and her lips press together.  The metal being in front of him lifted a brow slightly, but said nothing, so he kept going. _“Wu…”_ he couldn’t remember the possessive form. _“Wu, k’vareat yise poi-”_ [8]

 

West took in a breath and practically shoved her way forwards with a beaming smile, arms wide. _“Hyow oevra chauhla_ ** _juo_ ** _diplamante_ ** _sta_ ** _p’entiniral t’nanter estalile, quuvra poins k’seingrat wovellenya! Mez, woi k’checkmarit miovra disposivres? Io_ ** _te_ ** _t’estal Wiich_ ** _kasoon_ ** _pabe_ ** _statsin_ ** _, has quu_ ** _te_ ** _p’lylarap, neh ili t’estal… Yons-”[9]_

 

“Is that supposed to be my name?” Johnson muttered, disgruntled. “There’s supposed to be a ‘J’ sound somewhere in there.”

 

 _“Yonsun,”_ The younger human spoke over him. The robot looked down at him with… disdain? Approval? Indifference?[10]

 

 _“Io_ ** _te_ ** _t’ayesiral,”_ they said, voice drawling slightly. _“Quu_ _ **te** _ _neh io_ ** _te_ ** _veo p’lylalraak ile-ile nore t’estul hyow eo_ ** _te_ ** _t’nanterul.”[11]_

 

West’s smile was tight, but somehow still easy. Almost as if she were laughing. _“P’yekna_ ** _belg_ ** _mio o relqe,”_ she said, _“Eo_ ** _te_ ** _t’estal sta -- wiikin sta.”[12]_

 

“ _Noiqe,_ ” the robot said (Virtyoi was his name, Johnson thought. West had told him. Although -- it could have been Firchoi. He wasn't sure with these damn robots, and the kid had seemed to pick up an accent.) _“Nore t’estal nmo o lowmant_ ** _yova_ ** _. Io_ ** _te_ ** _p’gretnyurat_ ** _nuw_ ** _quu_ ** _te_ ** _vir t’achteniral, Wiich_ ** _kasoon_ ** _pab_ ** _statsin_ ** _, neh Yonsun pabe...”_ he looked disinterested, but politely curious. He was asking something, and Johnson only caught about 3 words -- _I, you,_ and _Statsin.[13]_

 

West turned to the older ambassador. “He wants to know where you're from.”

 

“Oh! Maine.”

 

 _“Maiyne,”_ West said, turning back to Virtue with a smile. _“Yosun, pabe_ ** _mainye_** _.”[14]_

 

 _“Maiyne,”_ Viirtyoi (Firchoi?) said, tasting the word. (The way his name sounded grated on Johnson’s ears -- couldn’t he just romanize it?)

 

Soon, the introductory meeting was over, and Johnson was walking back with West to their office suite. Johnson would commute via spacebridge, but West would live on the premises. Their offices were connected by a little walkway. They had already been sparsely furnished with the essentials. West turned on him, looking over her shoulder as her shoes clicked on the floor. “You,” she said, accent stronger since she had previously been speaking the robot language, “Nearly mucked everything up, Y -- Johnson. Did you even _understand_ what you were _saying?”_

 

This kid was pissing him off. She wouldn’t let him speak worth a damn and she was a terrible shrew. “Listen here, you little brat, I might not be an expert but I kn-”

 

“You very nearly told the head of the new Cybertronian government's security that his paint looks like shit, and not in a medical way,” West said, shrilly. “You could have caused an intergalactic _incident_ \-- you’re lucky his ego isn’t fragile!”

 

“I told him his paint looked _nice,_ before you interrupted me.”

 

 _“No,”_ West said, agitated, “You used ‘yise,’ which means ‘shit,’ or ‘garbage.’ What you were _probably_ looking for was ‘iise,’ which means ‘nice.’ Have you even _looked_ at the conversational vocabulary list I worked up for you?”

 

Johnson was silent. He’d thrown that thing away, opting for more textbook sources. Surely they were more legitimate. West scoffed and rolled her eyes.

 

“Oh, I don’t believe this,” she said, and began muttering to herself in Neocybex. She switched back to English. “You know, one of us is actually doing our fucking jobs.”

 

“You’re barely an intern,” Johnson seethed, tired of the abuse. “You fetch my coffee and translate for me.”

 

“First of all, you can get your own _fucking_ coffee,” West hissed, stopping in the hallway before their office suite’s door. “And second of all, I practically have to speak for you anyways. I’m a translator now and I _will_ be ambassador.”

 

Johnson sighed and waved it away. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and all that. “Fine. You’re right.” (It was the same technique he used with his wife.) West seemed to puff up a little, still pouty but a little more flattered.

 

“Yes,” she snapped, “I am.”

 

“Why did you say my name with a ‘Y’ sound, anyways?” Johnson asked, a little more curious as he held the door open for West. She walked through and looked over her shoulder.

 

“It’s the way the glyphs translated,” she said, confident. “Your ‘J’ glyph happens to translate over as the vowel ‘j’ sound, so it got turned into a ‘Y’ sound. Simple cyberization.”

 

“And what the hell does Firchoi or Viirtyoi even mean?” he grumbled, sitting down behind his desk as West moved to go to her office. She stood in the doorway, leaning on the doorjamb.

 

“Means virtue,” she said, casually. “He attaches the subglyphs for purity and grace to it, so keep that in mind. Don’t fuck it up.”

 

“What the hell even are they?”

 

“It’s better if you learn it with the word,” West said, “Just remember when you say his name, it’s ‘Firchoi **wamai**.’ The subglyphs mean ‘purity’ and ‘grace.’”

 

“Is it Viirtyoi or Firchoi?”

 

“Uh,” she said, shrugging, “Both? I speak a regional dialect that blurs the line between F’s and V’s. In some circles you’ll get looked at like a bumpkin if you say an F where a V is or vice versa, but those people are hangers-on from the Senate regime anyways.”

 

“Still don’t understand this whole Senate business,” Johnson muttered. “Or this subglyphs thing. Do I have some on my name?”

 

“If you’d read the file I worked up for you,” West led, one eyebrow going up, “You’d know you can attach some if you feel like it, but you don’t really have a lot of options that make sense. Your name basically means ‘son of John’, and they don’t have a concept of parents here. I mean, you could put self-descriptors like ‘driven’ or some other personal trait, but that fell out of style by the first wave at _Simanzi_ . It’s outdated. For the most part, people attach concept subglyphs to their name now. You could say, ' **p'untraritturyon** ' but... that's a mouthful.” West wrinkled her nose. "And fucking weird. Nobody does that. It means 'forged from John' and frankly, it translates over as a little ridiculous."

 

“You put some on your name.”

 

“That’s because I chose my name,” West said, “And it’s got a meaning I’m particular about. My name is like the cardinal direction. It means ‘West, the direction of the sunset.’ It's kind of like... a title. Like Prime, or a family clan name. Penna, Ambus, Rayzore, you know."

 

“Right, right. Why don’t you use your real name when we’re in diplomatic relations?” Johnson chided, and West went beet red in the face as her mouth drew tight.

 

“That _is_ my real fucking name, you fucking reprobate,” she seethed, and stormed into her office, slamming the door behind herself.

 

\------------------------------

 

Virtue sighed, rubbing at his temples as his eyes closed. The stink of the missile silo was all around him. He was here to do some… low profile reconnaissance. A stir caught his attention, and he frowned, craning his head to look. The crowd moved out of the way for something, and when the something came into view, Virtue was deeply intrigued.

 

So... _this_ was where Gadget of Carthex had ended up. He quietly took off after her, noticing how someone stumbled to get out of her way. So she was either nuts, a drug dealer, or both -- Virtue intended to find out. She'd been a person to watch for a while. After her disappearance from Garrus-10, he’d lost track of her for a while, and to have her surface with a modicum of respect (and fear, it seemed) afforded to her from a bunch of rough, tough Decepticons was quite intriguing indeed. Gadget and her tail trekked around the back of the silo, into the mud pits, and wound through sinkholes and puddles until they reached a relatively secluded spot. Virtue hung back behind a towering scrap of metal buried deep in the ground, rooted vertically to the spot. Gadget looked back and forth, seemingly waiting for something, and then turned back around when footsteps echoed in front of her. Virtue hummed softly in curiosity as a hulking brute of a Decepticon walked up to her and stood there expectantly.

 

“Do you have it?” he muttered. Gadget crossed her arms.

 

“DO YOU HAVE MY MONEY?”

 

“I want to see the dr-”

 

“SHUT UP AND LET ME SEE THE MONEY FIRST. YOU DON’T GET A MICRON UNTIL I GET MY SHANIX.”

 

The Con growled, and Gadget stood firm in her ground. Virtue was almost a little impressed. Ugly kept speaking. “I could just take it, little Autobot.”

 

“I WOULD SMASH THE BAG INTO THE MUD BEFORE YOU SO MUCH AS BREATHED IN MY DIRECTION,” Gadget said, taking out a baggie of red crystals that glimmered. So, Redline. The mottling on Ugly’s face matched up. “DON’T FUCK WITH ME, I SWEAR I’LL TAKE US BOTH OUT IF YOU FUCK WITH ME.”

 

Ugly paused, hesitant.

 

“I’LL DO IT,” Gadget threatened, tightening her claws. “I DON’T DO REDLINE. IT’S NO NANITES OFF MY PLATING.”

 

“Here,” Ugly said, and shoved a shanix card her way. Still tightly gripping the baggie, ready to crush and grind it up, Gadget looked over the card, visor blankly taking it in. She looked up at Ugly, nodded, and loosened her grip, handing him the bag. He snatched it away protectively.

 

“PLEASURE DOING BUSINESS WITH YOU,” Gadget said, “DON’T GIVE ME THIS KIND OF TROUBLE AGAIN. I’M NOT FEEDING YOUR HABIT OUT OF THE GOOD OF MY SPARK.”

 

“Bitch,” Ugly muttered, and walked away. Gadget watched him go, suspiciously turning around and walking away as well, heading… not back to the missile silo? Virtue was already so invested. This was fascinating. This was something he could use, for sure. It had been weeks since the ‘come home’ call had gone out. He could certainly gather information on his own, but it would be very helpful indeed to have someone who knew the underbelly of this accursed place. He watched her slip out of the missle silo and away, fading into the distance quickly and getting lost in the crowd. He would have to keep an eye on her. She could be useful.

 

He got his chance the next day -- she was back for another delivery, seeming to make it her part-time job to deliver drugs to those who had the money. Virtue understood. Times were tough on everyone, most of all the disenfranchised. Just because you were an Autobot didn’t mean that you would be on top of things. He tailed her again, and when she was done with the deal, he made his way in front of her and stopped her.

 

She stopped rigid, finials flicking, and Virtue just barely got a brush of her field. No wonder the mech yesterday had stumbled out of her way -- it was so violently turbulent it was nearly nauseating, making Virtue’s vision spin for a moment. There was anxiety, tension, anger, paranoia, and oh so much of the jitters. So much. Even though her field quickly retreated before he could get more than a taste, it left him feeling vaguely queasy and jittery himself. He smiled politely. “Gadget of Carthex, correct?”

 

He could see her poised to run, or fight -- judging on how she was holding herself, he guessed her first option would be run if it came to that. It was Virtue’s job to make sure it didn’t. “Hm?”

 

“WHO’S ASKING?”

 

“Virtue of Vos,” Virtue said calmly, drawing himself up just a tad. “I’ve heard you know some people.”

 

“I KNOW LOTS OF PEOPLE,” she said, droning monotone wary as she tilted her screen, as if eyeing him. He smiled tightly, humming a laugh through his nose. Her evasiveness, while understandable, was inconvenient.

 

“Yes, I can see that,” he drawled, gesturing around them at the missile silo. “You seem to have some power here. I’m looking for someone. Perhaps you know him?”

 

“WHO IS IT?”

 

“His name is Chainsmoke of Kaon,” Virtue said, looking at his finger paint. “Heard of him?”

 

“CHAINSMOKE?” Gadget stood a little straighter, tilting her helm to the side. “HE LIVES ON THE WEST SIDE OF THIS PLACE. HE GOES INTO TOWN EVERY MONDAY AND WEDNESDAY.”

 

“Excellent,” Virtue said, smiling widely, and handed her two cubes of high-grade fuel, watching as she, puzzled, took them. “A reward for your troubles. Thank you, Gadget of Carthex -- I may come to you again.” And with the reward given, and the promise future rewarded work hinted at, he took his leave, weaving back into the crowd until he couldn’t feel her gaze searing into his backplates any more. She was intense, that was for sure.

 

\-----------------------

 

Gadget stared down at the two cubes of fuel in her claws, a bit stunned. All she had needed to get these was to give out a name? She was making decent money pawning off her leftover drugs (and extra she bought at a thinly negotiated discount from other dealers for some variety) but she didn’t have enough money for this. She wasn’t even sure ReDouble had enough money for this and he was rolling in it from before the war.

 

She tucked them both away and started to go back home, briefly considering concealing her new gift from her housemates. Then, she hugged herself as she left the missile silo, feeling a little guilty somewhere distant in her spark. She soothed it by telling herself that there was no reason to hide both of them, and that presenting her housemates with some good food would get her further in their good graces. If there was one thing she’d learned from living with them, it was that people from Lower Crestover _loved_ to share. It could be a little overwhelming sometimes, especially for Gadget -- who was so used to things being transactional. She walked down the street, trying to put it out of her mind, and eventually came up on the sculpted-looking house, opening the door and walking in. She closed it behind herself. “HEY.”

 

“Hey there, little drifter,” Chug greeted, waving. They were sitting against the wall, drawing on a datapad. “How was your day? Where’ve you been?”

 

“IT WAS FINE,” Gadget said, looking around. “WHERE ARE THE OTHERS?”

 

“Oh, Hock and them? They’s out panhandlin’, methinks. Siphoning can only go so far, y’know,” they chuckled. “Besides, where you been?”

 

“OUT. OUT GETTING THIS.” Gadget produced one of the cubes and Chug’s eyes shot wide open as they surged to sit bolt upright.

 

“Is that high grade there?” they gasped, looking up to Gadget. “Little drifter, who’s you talkin’ to to get shit like that?”

 

“JUST PEOPLE.” Gadget said, trying to evade the subject. Chug laughed softly, eyes rooted to the cube.

 

“Alright, hem and haw all you like,” they said, “but we’s gonna have some good food tonight. I’ll comm the rest of ‘em.”

 

Gadget nodded, going over to one of the mats and sitting down, taking out a datapad of her own to look at some stim videos. Chug leaned back against the wall and kept drawing. “Say, little drifter?”

 

Gadget looked up and over at them. It seemed that “little drifter” was just her nickname now. She hadn’t once heard any one of them call her “Gadget.” “YEAH?”

 

“Where do you even go all day?” Chug asked, looking up at her. “It seems you’s gone every day of every week, and we’s hardly ever seein’ anything but the back of you.”

 

Gadget’s finials pushed back a little, and she looked away to pick at a spot of peeling paint on her arm. She’d been avoiding those kind of questions from them for a while now -- this wasn't Garrus-10. People judged those who were… addicted to things, sometimes. They further judged those who distributed addictive substances. “YEAH. I GUESS.”

 

“If you don’t wanna talk about it, just say so and we’ll all drop it,” Chug said earnestly, “but we’s just wantin’ to know if you’s in trouble, little drifter. We’s friends, right? Friends keep each other safe.”

 

Gadget squinched in further and looked away. “I --” she huffed air through her vents. “I SELL DRUGS TO MAKE MONEY,” she admitted, looking back over at Chug. Their face was arranged into shock, and she didn’t know why she admitted it in the first place. “I’M ON BLUE MOON, AND I SELL THE LEFTOVERS FOR QUICK MONEY.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Chug said, eyebrows pulling up. “But you’s okay though, right, little drifter?”

 

“YOU DON’T CARE?”

 

“I mean,” Chug said, “it’s not good you’ve gotta do that, but I mean, Hock and the rest is out panhandlin’ every day. We don’t got much money. How much do you make?”

 

“ENOUGH,” Gadget said. “I DIDN’T TELL YOU GUYS ABOUT ANY OF IT BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT YOU TO ASK WHERE IT COMES FROM.”

 

“Fair enough,” Chug said. “But you don’t gotta keep secrets from us, little drifter, we’s family.”

 

“FAMILY?” Gadget said, jolted out of her moroseness. “FAMILY?”

 

“Yeah,” Chug said, shrugging as if it were common sense. “We all live together, and we eat together, and we’s all friends. Why can’t we be family?”

 

Gadget looked down at the ground in front of her feet. “I… DON’T KNOW.”

 

“Seein’ as how you’s a bit stumped, I say we just throw in the rag and call it a day,” Chug said cheerfully, “Hock’n the others are on their way back now. We was just wantin’ to know if you’s okay, ‘specially now that you told me ‘bout Blue Moon. We had a buddy, he…” Chug’s face drooped as they thought about something. “He’s disappeared, didn’t come back here one night, or the next, or the next,” they said. Gadget’s finials flattened, hard.

 

“WHAT HAPPENED?”

 

“We don’t know,” Chug said, shrugging as their brows pulled up. “We haven’t heard from him. He was on Black Ore though, an’ Hock thinks that --” they paused, looking away. “Hock thinks that he mighta kicked the bucket.” Their voice was soft now. “Keeper, though, he’s hopin’ that ol’ Lockjaw managed to get into rehab. I says if he did, then how come he hasn’t said anything?”

 

“LOCKJAW?” Gadget said, intently rigid. Chug looked up, hopeful.

 

“Yeah? Why, have you heard somethin’?

 

“WELL, NOT REALLY, JUST --”

 

Gadget unsubspaced her burner and presented it for inspection, baring the property-of tag. Chug leaned forwards to look at it, and glanced back up at her. “Where’d you get this?”

 

“IT WAS IN A SCRAPYARD,” Gadget said, leaning back to normal position as she tucked it away. “I UH, I’D BEEN SOBER FOR A LONG TIME AND I GOT ONE LITTLE TASTE AND IT ALL WENT DOWNHILL FROM THERE. I WENT TO A SCRAPYARD TO BUILD MY OWN COOKER.”

 

“That’s his burner, alright,” Chug said, softly. “He did all kinds of science, back in the day. Lotsa chemistry. You woulda liked him, little drifter, he was nice. It was sad watching him, you know.” Chug shrugged, their shoulders flopping. “Decline,” they finished lamely.

 

“MAYBE…” this was stupid. “MAYBE WE COULD CHECK ADDICTION CLINICS IN THE CITY? IF HE WAS SO BAD, MAYBE SOMEONE WOULD HAVE BROUGHT HIM IN FROM THE STREET.”

 

“Maybe,” Chug said, “But if he’s in rehab, you’da thought he’d tell us, right?”

 

“MAYBE IT’S INPATIENT, NO CONTACT.”

 

“Maybe,” Chug murmured softly, and then the door burst open. Gadget jumped nearly a foot.

 

“Hey there, little drifter!” Hock said cheerfully, “Chug says you found some good stuff today! They just yankin’ our alternators, or what’s the scoop?”

 

“NO,” Gadget said, producing the cube. “I GOT THIS TODAY.”

 

Flight whistled a long note as the three in the doorway gaped at it, Chug beaming proudly beside Gadget as if they’d helped her get it. Keeper smirked and closed the door behind the trio. They cracked open the cube over a fire as the sun started to set, passing it around as they passed stories. The conversation shifted to war stories as the night went on. They were punch-drunk off of good fuel and cloud gummies, warmed by the fire and each other’s company.

 

“-and then I finished him off with a clean right hook up the jaw!” Flight said, jumping up and mimicking the movement to illustrate his point. Chug booed, smiling.

 

“I thought these was war stories, not snooze stories,” he said, “You wasn’t even fightin’ in the war anyhows!”

 

“I still fought!”

 

“Yeah, at a fisticuffs match maybe,” Hock snickered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Besides, some of us are Bots and some of us are Cons. Maybe we should steer away from war talk, seein’ as how we was on opposite sides of the whole shebang.”

 

“IS THAT WHAT THEY’RE CALLING IT THESE DAYS?” Gadget tentatively joked, her ever-present, screeching nerves calmed by a mix of Blue Moon and Pink Cloud. She was deep in the throes of it now, using consistently again. She had missed the feeling. The four others howled with raucous, bawdy laughter, peals of it ringing off the walls and nearly giving Gadget a sensory overload it was so hearty. It was a good kind of sound, though.

 

“Shit, you’s funny,” Chug chortled, “What, you’s got a sense of humor now, little drifter?”

 

“MAYBE.” Hock slung an arm around her shoulders and Flight laid a hand on the top of her head to shake it back and forth affectionately. Gadget felt her nerves flare at the touch and her plating clamped in. Her sparkbeat picked up and her finials flattened, but at the same time -- it was… nice. She hated the indecisiveness. She decided it was uncomfortable. “CAN YOU. NOT TOUCH ME?”

 

“Oh, yeah,” Hock said, removing her arm as if Gadget was made of magma. Flight removed his too. “Y’alright, little drifter?”

 

“YEAH. TOUCH ISN’T -- I DON’T LIKE IT.”

 

“Well, shit, why didn’t you say so,” Chug said, earnest. “And here we’ve been feelin’ you up like Tarn meeting Megatron in person.”

 

“God, will you shut up?” Keeper said, lobbing a red-hot coal from the fire at them. It pinged off their plating and fell sizzling to the ground. “You’s gonna run that big fat moutha yours too much one day and you’s gonna get whacked.”

 

“Leave off,” Chug tossed back, “It’s not like I’s fluxin’ every whichaway. It’s the truth, itdn’t?”

 

“You don’t gotta say it,” Flight chipped in, crossing his arms. He was still smiling. “Iron slag is technically nutritious, but just ‘cause it’s the truth don’t mean it’s good.”

 

“Bitch, shut up,” Chug fake-dismissed, trying not to smile, “You’s not even a Con.”

 

“Hock isn’t a Con!” Flight said, defensively. He was also trying not to let his smile bleed through. “She got that big fat shiny red badge!”

 

“And you don’t got _no_ badge,” Keeper muttered at the same time that Hock said, “But Hock knows to keep her damn nose out of other people’s _business,_ Flight.”

 

“I hate you,” Flight said, reaching over Gadget to shove Hock gently. Gadget felt like she was sitting among giants. They were all big mecha, and she was a minibot. “You’s supposed to have my back.”

 

“You’s so dramatic,” Hock said, “You’ll live. You’s whimpering like one of Here-all-week’s whelps.”

 

The crowd howled with laughter at that as Flight got fake-offended, and Gadget offlined her screen, letting the energy of the group fill her. She wasn’t good with people. She didn’t like people. She didn’t know how to relate to them, or how to communicate with them… but these people were fuckups too, and they didn’t seem to care that one day when Chug had tried to wake her up she’d almost ripped out their neck cabling by instinct, or that one day Hock had woken up in the middle of the night to see Gadget emptying her nightly syringe into herself just so she could function like a normal person. They just liked her… for her.

  


\--------------------

 

Virtue made his way through the missile silo, looking for someone. Chainsmoke had just been a test for Gadget -- he couldn't care less about the mech. He paused, helm swivelling to look around, and caught sight of who it was that he was seeking. Flux lay on her back, chest moving gently as she vented in her sleep. It was nearly evening -- did she just sleep all day? A few unit members were piled around her, also dozing. They looked like cybercats lazing around.

 

Virtue approached and nudged Flux's foot with his own. She mumbled, eyes squinching before she relaxed, so he nudged her again. Groggily, she opened her eyes. “Whuh?”

 

“Major General,” Virtue said, “Come with me, if you would. I have something to discuss with you.”

 

Flux blearily nodded, and gently extricated herself from the pile, freeing herself with relatively little hassle. She gestured for him to lead the way. He did, and they made their way to a more secluded spot. Virtue spoke. “Asleep all day, Major General?”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, yawning, “yeah. I think I'm awake three hours at most these days, and that's spent scrounging up food. But it seems like you and Bumblebee helped. There's at least enough scraps for everybody, so thank you. And tell Bumblebee I said thank you. I sleep to avoid feeling hungry,” Flux said, smiling tiredly and laying a hand on her belly. Virtue inclined his helm in acknowledgement.

 

“Indeed,” he said, “and I'll pass it along. But, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

 

“Shoot.”

 

“In the near future,” Virtue said quietly, looking around, “there will be a ship departing on a long-term voyage. I want you to be on it when it takes off.”

 

Flux lifted an eyebrow, frowning slightly. “I don’t understand. Is it to a penal colony, or something?”

 

“No,” Virtue said, rolling his eyes.

 

“A court further away, to house bigger crowds?”

 

“No,” Virtue said again, rolling his eyes harder, if possible. “Rodimus Prime has gotten it into his helm to look for the Knights of Cybertron. Going on that ship will distance you from this planet for the foreseeable future. I want you on that ship.”

 

Flux crossed her arms. “Virtue, that’s irresponsible of me,” she said, “I can’t just skip out on my trial! What kind of example would I be setting? It’s my job as a member of high command to be an example for people to follow -- be it in command or as a way to show that we shouldn’t be evading justice.”

 

“Your moralizing and sense of duty is quaint, Major General,” Virtue drawled, tilting his helm to look over at her from under his brows. “However, there comes a time where we must forego our little daily responsibilities and do what’s best for the people.”

 

Flux sighed through her nose. “I’m listening.”

 

Virtue put his hands behind his back, clasping one wrist in his other hand. “You see,” he said, “your presence on this planet and in this silo is a disturbance. Your recent… distance, shall we say? From the movement and its leader have shattered your credibility with a large part of the Decepticon army that doesn’t line up with you and yours’ ideals.”

 

Flux looked away. “Of course you know about that,” she mumbled, eyebrows drawing down. Virtue kept going.

 

“As such, as more and more Decepticons come back to this planet, it’s going to be harder and harder to control,” he said, “and loss of control can _not_ happen. Not now. The system is perilously fragile as it is. Starscream is going to try and insert himself in the government and you are a major magnetizing force in his way.”

 

“In his way?” Flux said, helm jerking back. “I’m not looking to be involved in government. I would support him if he decided to take part.”

 

“I’m well aware,” Virtue said, “and so is he. However, your problem is more passive than active. Your followers are loyal to you. Not to him. We need unity, Flux, not discordance. And while you may coach yours to take direction from Starscream, others may take issue with Starscream’s presence and decide to listen to just you, instead. Add to that if the word that you deserted the Army gets out?” Virtue whistled softly. “It’d be a free-for-all, Flux, and you know it.”

 

Flux chewed on her lower lip so harshly Virtue worried she might tear it. She mumbled about this and that and these and those to herself, her index finger taking the place of her lower lip at one point. Finally, she sighed, and sagged. “How am I going to get on this ship?”

 

“Excellent,” Virtue said warmly, “I knew you’d see things my way. Now that we’re on the same screen, let’s get the logistics sorted out. Prowl, Bumblebee and I have come to an agreement on this -- please, walk to the Citadel with me.”

 

Flux blinked. “Oh, uh, okay.”

 

So she did, following Virtue, and they walked in silence for a few moments. Virtue pursed his lips and looked at the ground as they walked, and sighed through his nose. “I hope you know,” he said slowly, looking over to Flux. She glanced down at him from where she’d been studying the puffy clouds in the sky, apparently content to walk in silence. “I hope you know,” he began again. This was near-painful to get out. “That I do enjoy your company, Flux. As… hm, gawkish as you can be sometimes, I do think you are a pleasant person.”

 

Flux’s face split into a bright smile and Virtue very nearly regretted saying anything, even if he meant it. That smile meant she wouldn’t shut up about this for the next thirty minutes. “Oh, thank you, Virtue, that’s so kind of you! At least,” she said, smile turning more impish, “I think.”

 

True to form, she yakked all the way there, and Virtue just listened, actually not as irritated as he thought he’d be. They walked into the Citadel and took themselves to Bumblebee’s office, where Prowl and Bee were already waiting. Virtue had already commed them that Flux had agreed. They closed the doors behind themselves, and Bee smiled to greet Flux. They shook hands, and Prowl cleared his throat.

 

“Flux of Lower Crestover,” he said gravely, “Previously Major General Flux of the Decepticon Army, you’ve been brought here to sign off on your inclusion in the Decepticon Reintegration Act.”

 

“Hm?” Flux said, eyebrows going up.

 

“The DRA states that the Decepticon who is included will be forgiven of all charges,” Bumblebee said, stepping forwards and spreading his arms, “provided that they contribute to helping our restoration efforts. By leaving the planet, Flux, you’d be doing a lot to keep the peace. There can only be so many cooks in the kitchen, you know.”

 

“Exactly,” Prowl said, nodding. “And as much as this leaves a bad taste in my mouth, we are prepared to pardon you on the spot if you leave on the journey that Rodimus is proposing. Of course, if the journey falls through, I’m sure we can find some other way. You are to leave the planet and not come back.”

 

Flux chewed on the inside of her cheek, and then nodded after a moment. “Alright. I’ll sign it. But I don’t like skipping out on my responsibility,” she added, in the same tone of voice usually accompanied by finger-wagging. Bee patted her elbow.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said, “Just think about it as serving your sentence in a different way. We just want to make sure this doesn’t all go off the rails again, and Virtue told me about how you left near the end of things. I would never have guessed.”

 

“Admirable, that,” Prowl said, nodding more. Flux frowned.

 

“I didn’t -- _leave,”_ she said, “it’s just that Megatron and his -- whatever you want to call them, weren’t what Decepticons should be any more. So we… just split off from each other, that’s all.”

 

Bee nodded, brow a little furrowed as he thought on it, but Prowl rolled his eyes, turning around to grab the paperwork. “Whatever you want to call it,” he said, “just go ahead and sign this, and you’ll be cleared.” He thrust it her way, holding it out to her with a stylus in his other hand. Virtue watched as she wembled for a moment, and then took them, sighing before signing at the bottom of the document.

 

“There,” she said, a little subdued, “it’s a done thing. I can’t believe this,” she said, placing her hands over her eyes, “this has got to be the most selfish thing I’ve ever done,” she bemoaned.

 

“Stop your tankaching,” Prowl said, a little snarly, “This is going to keep order.”

 

Flux nodded, sighing harshly as her hands slipped from her face. “So… now what?”

 

“Now,” Bumblebee said, “Prowl and Virtue are going to scarper, and you and I are going to share a cube of high-grade and talk about this a little more in one of the lounges.”

 

Flux sighed, and nodded slightly. Virtue let out a soft “hm!” and took his leave, not looking to see if Prowl was behind him.

 

\------------------------

 

Flux stared down at Bumblebee, trying not to twiddle her fingers in anxiety. This was all so surreal. All of her charges -- and Flux had read the lot of them before she signed, there were plenty (was “crimes against the species” a real thing or a catch-all?) -- dismissed, just like that. She was actually a free mech. No more court date looming in the future, no wondering whether they’d give her the triple tap. It felt too easy. It felt cowardly. “So,” she said, a little more than anxious, “um…”

 

“Here,” the minibot said, “Come with me.” They made their way out of his office, a little ways down the hall and to a tiny lounge area. Bee produced two cubes of high grade, and handed one to her as he sat down in a modern-looking padded armchair. Flux sat on the couch across the little ottoman from him. “Now,” he said, raising his cube to toast, “we drink. To New Iacon.”

 

“Aye,” Flux said, almost by reflex. Their cubes bumped up together, and they both took a sip, Flux nearly moaning in delight as her eyes rolled back into her head. This fuel was so rich she was worried it’d make her sick, so she took tiny sips of it. She put it down into her lap and stared into it, contemplating. “The last time I had something like this,” she said, “I was at this truly horrible officer-cadre function.”

 

“So you had those too, eh?” Bumblebee said, and Flux exclaimed in disgust, leaning back and waving a hand.

 

“Oh, it was all about ‘ceremony’ this and ‘unity’ that,” she said, scornfully. “Megatron wouldn’t know what unity was if it bit him in the left skidplate, and that’s a fact.” She pointed at Bumblebee to make her point, and he laughed a little, clearly expecting her to go on. So she did. “They were terrible. You wear a stuffy purple cape and you mill around with the well-to-do and…” she trailed off, frowning sadly. “And we were like Senators,” she said, hurting. “A bunch of mecha gathered around drinking high-grade and talking about politics while the lower classes starved.”

 

She sighed, shaking her head. “No, I never liked those meetings. They were alright at first, you know, important meetings to talk about policy and the like, to make sure everyone was on the same screen,” she said. “But near the end it was just about…”

 

“The pomp and circumstance?” Bumblebee guessed, and when Flux nodded, he chuckled mirthlessly. “Yeah. We had them too.”

 

“Never sat right with me,” she murmured, and then shook her helm. “But, I guess it’s over now. So, um, about this DRA, what-?”

 

Bumblebee waved a hand. “It’s all in the document you signed. I’ll forward you a copy when I get back to my office. Really, it’s nothing to worry about, Flux. You don’t have to serve your penance in a penitentiary to make amends. Sometimes it’s doing something else.”

 

“Yeah, I know, but I was expecting --” Flux leaned forwards, voice lower as she bared her teeth in a grimace and widened her eyes, drawing a finger across her throat. “You know,” she hissed, “the triple tap?”

 

“Oh!” Bumblebee exclaimed thickly, voice clogged with the fuel he’d just drank. It cleared as he spoke a little more and swallowed halfway through his sentence, “Oh, god no. Not you. Megatron, yeah. But not you. We were going to recommend life in prison before this.”

 

Flux nodded, taking it in. She sat back and took another tiny sip. “I see. And my units --?”

 

“All in the document,” Bumblebee said cheerfully, waving his hand. “Your units will be granted leniency as well, though they will still face charges. We don’t want it to be too obvious and look like we’re playing favorites.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Flux said, nodding a little. Her eyebrows furrowed. Bumblebee moved on.

 

“But yeah,” he said, “things are looking up. We’ve even got a human ambassador now -- two of them.”

 

“Oh, really?” Flux said, interest piqued. “That’s neat. So I guess things are really taking off, huh?”

 

“Definitely,” Bumblebee agreed, smiling. “And definitely for better things.”

  


\------------------------

 

The next day, Virtue was back in the missile silo -- and so was Gadget. He crossed paths with her again. “Gadget, my dear.”

 

She seemed to tense at the terminology. “WHAT.”

 

“Nothing much. Just another little job for you.” Virtue leaned forwards and murmured his request, and Gadget tilted her helm.

 

“WHAT, YOU WANT ME TO BRING HIM IN?”

 

“Heavens, no,” Virtue said, “we have thugs to do the dirty work. I just want you to… gather some information about him, if you would be so kind. Please, come to the Citadel when you have it. This is my office.” Virtue metaphorically slid her a card since they weren’t standing over any kind of table, and she took it, examining it before subspacing it. “I’ll be seeing you.”

 

And he walked away, confident he’d be giving out two more cubes of high grade.

 

\----------------------------

 

Prowl stormed into Virtue’s office, absolutely steamed. _Yes,_ he knew that sending that Decepticon bitch away on Rodimus’s likely ill-fated journey was the best thing for the planet. _Yes,_ he’d gotten to include his rider that she could never come back, and, _yes_ \-- it was legal. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t still be pissed about it. Virtue’s office was nice, with big bay windows on the back wall, and a beam of metal crossing horizontally over the windows to support the angled ceiling, smaller windows above the beam. These could be cracked open to let in the breeze. It was a nice office and Prowl was admittedly a little jealous. Virtue looked up from his desk, the insufferable ass, and crossed his legs, leaning back. “Prowl,” he said disinterestedly, “What can I do for you?”

 

“You know as well as I do that having two pardoned Cons on that ship complicates matters,” he hissed, “not to mention one that’s so high-ranked!”

 

“The Major General won’t be a problem,” Virtue said, waving a hand. Prowl saw red but kept listening. “After all, the only thing that gets her wires in a twist is _unfairness.”_ There was a little hint of derision there. “Well, that and Megatron.”

 

“I thought she wasn’t a fan anymore?” Prowl said, coming out of his rage into confusion. Virtue rolled his eyes.

 

“You are so painfully dense,” he said, and Prowl’s sparkbeat thundered again, “When I say seeing him gets her wires in a twist, I mean that she’s about half a second away from attacking him. Those two are far too alike in the opposite directions.”

 

“You-” something rustled, and Prowl looked up, looking around. One of the top windows was opened, and something dark scuttled from the beam to the near-to-the-ceiling bookshelf Virtue had on the east wall. “What’s that? Did you have that window open?”

 

“Hm?” Virtue said casually, looking over his shoulder. “No.”

 

Prowl glanced to where a flash of softly glowing aqua caught his eye, and nearly shouted. He pulled out his gun and aimed it at the mech crouched like some kind of feral creature, their screen glinting forebodingly in the dimness of the shelf. Virtue’s office was bright, but that corner was dark, and the creature seemed to absorb the darkness, drawing it to itself. It foamed static at him and rattled its plating, which scraped the walls. Virtue glanced where Prowl was pointing his gun.

 

“State your name and serial number,” Prowl said commandingly, “and get down off of that shelf with your hands above your head. Slowly.”

 

They did neither of those things. Instead, they just very, painfully slowly, tilted their helm at him. That gaze felt like it was piercing right through his spark like a lance. It was chilling, all the way down to the protoform, and curdled his spark. There was history in that glance -- there was something unidentifiably raw. It was a warning. **_Don’t fuck with me._ ** It was as if the creature huddled on top of the shelf were some kind of brightly colored cybermoth with eyes on its wings, attempting to warn off predators. The only thing was… this moth looked like it had a bite.

 

“Gadget,” Virtue admonished, shocking the two locked in the staring match out of their frozen states, “Be civilized and get down from there. You could have just walked through my front door -- it’s not as if opening a handle requires any sort of special intellect. Prowl did it just fine.”

 

“H-” Prowl started to protest, and then the creature moved, fluid despite its rigid Cybertronian(?) plating. As it crawled into the light, the beams from the windows illuminating it in a washing tide as more and more of it crawled out from the crevice, he saw it was not an it but a she -- this was Gadget of Carthex.

 

Prowl instantly raised his gun again from where he’d relaxed it slightly and flicked the safety from on to off. “What are you doing here, Gadget?”

 

Gadget’s feet hit the ground and her gyroscopic neck swivelled to face her screen to him. He nearly shuddered. He had heard that Gadget’s time in Garrus-10 had turned her into a near-psychopath, but there was nothing like seeing it up close. There was just something so off about her -- so disturbingly absent. It was as if she were some kind of walking void, uncomfortable to be near to for its crushing emptiness. Her screen reflected light, but beneath the streaks of brightness, it looked like a black hole. Nothing escaped -- not even a twinkle. She tilted her helm, regarding him, and he got the fuelcurdling sensation of being stripped beyond his core like a full autopsy, each piece laid out and tagged for closer inspection. She was so chillingly intense and it made him, a seasoned officer, truly afraid in some part of his spark. He tried not to swallow so obviously. He nearly jumped a mile when she spoke and almost pulled the trigger. She was still watching him with that horrifying screen. “I’M HERE BECAUSE VIRTUE HAD A JOB FOR ME.”

 

“That I did, so if you could stop waving your gun around like some sort of blithering coward,” Virtue said scathingly, and smiled sweetly at Gadget. “Thank you so much for your promptness, dear. I assume you have my information for me?”

 

Gadget produced a datapad and handed it over. “EVERYTHING YOU ASKED FOR. I TAILED HIM.”

 

“Excellent! I knew I could count on you. Here.” Virtue produced a wrapped-in-fine-netting package of four ( **_four!_ ** ) high grade cubes and Prowl could tell that Gadget was just as shocked as he was. Her finials were the only expressive thing about her -- the air around her where her field might be was as sterile as the rest of her, evidence of how tightly she’d drawn it in. “Stay in touch. I might give you more… _steady_ work.”

 

Gadget nodded, and Prowl watched her glance over at him, evaluating him once more. Then her gaze shifted to the door behind him, and her finials flattened. Evidently, something was wrong with how he was standing, so he moved out of the way, a little dumbfounded. Gadget’s finials flattened even further and she took a step back, scuttling back up the bookshelf and scurrying along the top of the shelf onto the girder beam. With one last look over her shoulder she shimmied and squeezed through the little gap in the window and yanked it closed behind herself. Virtue pressed a button on his desk to lock the windows murmuring about how he was pretty sure he’d already done that, and Prowl swallowed harshly. Virtue glanced back up from where he’d started to do paperwork. “Well? Was there anything else you wanted to complain about, or are you just going to stand there like a Sharkticon with a broken jaw joint?”

 

Prowl flushed bright pink and rushed out, face hot with embarrassment. As it calmed, he saw Gadget looping around to the sidewalk from the back of the building to the front, and rushed to tail her. He tailed her all the way back to where she was living, and transformed just around the corner, parking on the shoulder of the road. While he waited for his stakeout, he tried to ignore the raucous and annoying chatter from the little sculpted house and pulled up information on Gadget.

 

Her mugshot, where she looked almost timid and scared. Then, her plea deal -- she got half a million years in a supermax prison. In Garrus-9! Only a few months in, she’d had to be transferred to Garrus-10 due to behavioral issues, just a week before the incident with Overlord. Further analysis of that transfer concluded that… it probably wasn’t legitimate. So that meant that Gadget had known about the Overlord incident, and could very possibly be a double agent. A good Autobot would have warned Fortress Maximus about the incoming hell. Prowl’s spark twisted with disgust. Perhaps she was always some kind of psychopath -- after all, Tebba Base had jokingly labeled her “Autobot Most Likely To Defect.” Double agents in this climate could be disastrous if they decided to come out of hiding and stir up trouble. Prowl waited all night, nearly working himself into a frenzy reading Gadget’s file. In Garrus-10, multiple disciplinary marks, almost too many to count. She spent nearly 85% of her stay in the prison in solitary confinement, by his calculations. Add to that, her records stated that she’d been put into a detoxing program for jubilance addiction -- and oh, Primus, was this a pressure cooker. When the sun rose, three large mecha left almost single-file out the door, calling goodbyes over their shoulder, and walked off down the street, loudly talking and laughing to each other. After a while, another big mech followed them, and finally, Gadget slipped out, looking around before transforming and driving on the street.

 

Prowl put himself out of park and followed, making sure to keep himself at a reasonable distance away. Gadget turned onto the road that would take her to the missile silo, and Prowl tailed her all the way there and all the way through the crowd when they were back in their root modes. He almost lost her in the crowd, but he managed to keep up. She was up to something and he knew it. He trailed her out back of the missile silo, and found her dealing drugs, handing over a syringe filled with a glowing green substance. Immediately he shouted. “Everyone freeze -- police!”

 

His spark thundered and he aimed his gun, comming for backup. Needlenose and whatever his name was were in the immediate area, they could come help. Gadget and her client both froze, throwing their hands up, and Gadget’s plating was drawn so tight to her body it looked uncomfortable. Her finials were so far back that Prowl nearly couldn’t see them, and after a moment, he could tell that she was trembling, almost uncontrollably. He took a step forwards, slowly, gun at the ready and the safety off. Needlenose and his pal came running, and two more cop cars screeched up behind the arrestees to block them off. Gadget sharply looked behind her. Then she looked back to Prowl, and then back to the backup.

 

She shoved her poor client forwards and took off to the right behind him, legs and arms pistoning as she made a run for it. Several engines revved and as soon as Gadget reached a place she wouldn’t spin out in the mud she transformed, engine roaring as her vents blasted wiggly hot air. She left tire tracks as her tires squealed, puffing up smoke and dust as she took off. Two cop cars tore after her as Prowl arrested the client and called a paddywagon. He got the call ten minutes later after the paddywagon had pulled up that they’d detained Gadget and were waiting for Prowl to come pick her up. So he and the paddywagon sped off in their direction. Gadget was tightly restrained and held on the ground, from where she’d clearly attempted to fight her way free and was lying, panting, on the sidewalk under one of the officers. She saw Prowl and her efforts renewed, metal scraping against sidewalk as she shrieked. Eventually they got her loaded in and shut the doors on her.

 

Prowl drove alongside the paddywagon, a nice fellow actually named Paddywagon. He saw the back shake violently every now and then and a dent appeared in the side that Gadget had been strapped into. When they finally parked in front of the Citadel, Paddywagon threw the doors open and bemoaned, “Get her out of me -- both my EM field and my insides have bruises!”

 

Getting her into the Citadel’s justice wing was just as difficult, with her kicking and screaming and even trying to plant her heels on the door when they tried to carry her in. She planted her heels on the doorjambs and pushed back hard, making the rookie beat cop she was hassling nearly stumble backwards in surprise. Her field jabbed outwards like knives, filled with so many violently swirling emotions that Prowl couldn’t identify them. The rookie trying to push her in looked nearly a little green in the face from being so directly exposed to it.

 

Prowl just growled in frustration and quickly popped her leg closest to him with his nightstick and she flinched long enough for them to get her inside. When she was taken into an interrogation room, they chained her cuffs to the table, and made a quick exit as she thrashed in an effort to free herself. They regrouped to try and figure out just how to deal with her -- she’d been fighting too much to risk the time it would take to bring her around the back.

 

The bolt that chained her to the table wasn’t budging -- it was built to restrain mecha at least three times her size. She screeched in what Prowl couldn’t identify but wanted to call rage and heaved again, jumping up and down and planting her foot against the edge of the table to try and give herself some leverage. The bolt creaked and the chains bent, and Prowl barely had enough time to recognize with shock, _holy shit she’s about to break the cuffs_ before the chain snapped and she was vaulting the table and throwing herself at the two-way mirror, ramming her shoulder into it.

 

She stumbled back, tottering, and her helm shook. Then she focused that chillingly blank screen on the mirror again and threw herself at it once more. It bounced her back with a solid thunk and she fell over. Then, she got up, and, screaming, started pounding on the glass with her claws, a terrible screeching noise echoing as they dragged down the glass. She then started trying to drill through the glass with her tri-claw as Prowl stood, rooted to the spot in shock. He’d _never_ seen a detainee react like this -- **_ever._ ** He was more than a little disturbed as Gadget thrashed and shrieked like some kind of wild thing behind the glass, spouting something that wasn’t even language. She then looked around and laid eyes on the security cameras, vents heaving and reached up with her datacable to rip one directly off of the wall and attack the glass with it, hitting it over and over again. What was wrong with her? Was she just some kind of half-feral mech? Prowl almost could see her as a sparkeater.

 

The door flew open and Virtue strode in. “What in the _hell_ are you doing, you imbecile?”

 

\-----------------------

 

Gadget’s spark was roaring in her audials so loudly she couldn’t think. She felt like she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe and she couldn’t feel her limbs and she couldn’t see, all she could see was a wash of red. She was scared. She was terrified. She couldn’t go back to Garrus-10, not again. Not _ever_ again. She wouldn’t survive it. She felt like she was about to pass out or die or explode or she didn’t know. Something muffled came to her attention. She didn’t hear what it was so she just kept screaming and fighting. The screaming was making her head ring and it was too much noise, overwhelming her brain -- but her brain was making her scream because there was just too much noise and it fed off of itself. She lashed out wildly around herself, trying to keep anyone who might approach at bay. If she was scary enough, no one would approach her. If she had eyes she would be bawling them out. As it was her vents hiccuped madly and her temperature ran up into the redline. The intercom squeaked once.

 

 **_“Gadget of Carthex,”_ ** Someone’s voice rang sharply over the intercomms, **_“You will stop this behavior and calm down right now.”_ **

 

Gadget did. She stopped screaming, at the very least, frozen rigid and panting as she looked around for the source of the noise. Her spark was pounding so fast she felt like it was skipping beats as she looked around for the source of the noise so she could attack it. She had to hurt _it_ before it hurt _her._

 

The voice was quieter, as if the person was leaning away from the microphone. “See, Prowl, it wasn’t that difficult.”

 

Gadget rushed forwards to bang on the glass once, plastering herself to it. “I’M GOING TO RIP PROWL’S FACE OFF.”

 

“She says she’s going to rip your face off,” the voice said calmly.

 

\--------------------------------

 

Virtue took his fingers off the intercom and looked back at Prowl, thoroughly pissed. “Just what in the hell happened? You dragged her through the _front door?_ Are you aware of the PR incident this will be? Are you honestly that stupid, or do you just like making my job difficult?”

 

“She-” Prowl started to say. Virtue cut him off.

 

“You will, of course, be receiving a letter about this,” he said, “but let me read you the rough draft so you don’t bungle it like this again. For starters, failure to apprehend the subject quickly and with minimal fuss. Secondly, damage and injury to transport vehicle, and thirdly, but most certainly not lastly, she’s clearly having a severe panic attack, Prowl. With the state she’s in, you should have brought her to the _hospital_ first, not an interrogation room. Her frame type is vulnerable to spark attack if they’re hyperstimulated. You’re lucky she hasn’t died in police custody. If she does, I’ll have an even bigger mess to clean up and you _will_ be the mop. I’ll make sure of that.”

 

All Prowl could think to stutter was “well if I did bring her to the hospital, she’d likely kill one of the hospital staff.”

 

“Do you not know what a tranquilizer is, you _moron?”_ Virtue snarled. “There’s destruction of Citadel property that you have to deal with, and you will be dealing with it -- the detainee was not in the proper state of mind to be responsible for these damages.”

 

“She was selling _hard drugs!”_ Prowl defended, gesturing to the now-pacing empurata behind the glass. “I did my _job!_ She had _several_ Class 4 substances in her possession with intent to distribute!”

 

“No, you played _big grown up mech_ with a _pellet pistol,”_ Virtue said scathingly. “You arrested somebody you could pick on whether you consciously realize it or not -- the same way that you pick on that doctor at the addiction clinic. You think you can get away with it, Prowl, or the ends justify the means. Which -- quite frankly, they can, but that isn’t the point. The point is, _Prowl,_ you are incompetent and _will_ be receiving a formal complaint.” Virtue turned back to study Gadget behind the glass. “I’ll clean up your mess. I always do.”

 

Prowl exclaimed in disgust and left the room, and Virtue placed his finger back on the intercomm. “Prowl’s gone, Gadget. May I come in so we can talk?”

 

“YOU CAN TALK TO ME OUT THERE,” Gadget snapped, whapping the window with a flick of her wrist, snapping the outside of her claws on the glass as she passed by on one of her pacing turns. Virtue shrugged subtly and sighed softly.

 

“I suppose,” he said. “Now, I can make this go away, Gadget, and I can make I go away very neatly.” Something in Gadget changed, and her finials flattened flush to her helm as she scurried under the table, grasping onto the leg for security. Virtue thought it odd. “You just need to listen to me.”

 

Her helm dipped. She was trembling so violently she was rattling the table. Virtue kept going. “I’m going to offer you a job,” he said, “and I think it’s one you’ll be very good at considering that you excel in this skill. What do you say for coming onto the other side of the security fence, Gadget? I need you to help me with the underbelly of this place. I can’t be everywhere at once, and I admire your competence.”

 

Gadget looked up at the glass. “WHAT’S THE CATCH?”

 

“No catch,” Virtue waved away. “I’ll make this go away either way, but it would be easier for me if you took the job.”

 

Gadget seemed to consider it, and then looked back up to the glass. “I HAVE SOME FRIENDS.”

 

Virtue’s brow raised. “Congratulations, my dear?”

 

“NO,” the empurata said, banging a claw against the table in frustration. “I MEAN I HAVE FRIENDS THAT CAN DO JOBS TOO.”

 

“Oh, so you want to secure employment for them as well?”

 

“YEAH.”

 

“I’ll see what I can do. What are their skills?”

 

“UM. HOCK IS A LIBRARIAN, OR SHE WAS BEFORE THE WAR. SHE BRAGGED ABOUT HOW ORDERLY HER FILING SYSTEM WAS.” Virtue marked that down as a definite yes before Gadget kept speaking. “CHUG IS AN ARTIST, A REALLY GOOD ONE. THEY DRAW THINGS ALL THE TIME ON THEIR DATAPADS. MAYBE THEY COULD HANDLE DESIGN, OR SOMETHING.” Not the most pressing, but it certainly couldn’t hurt. “AND FLIGHT, HE’S GOOD AT LINGUISTICS AND TRANSCRIBING.” Oh, very useful. Virtue hummed for her to go on, and she did, shifting to get a little more comfortable, “KEEPER SAYS HE ONCE KILLED A MECH WITH ONLY HIS PINKY DIGIT, BUT WE DON’T KNOW HOW TRUE THAT IS. BUT HE’S REALLY GOOD AT PHYSICS.”

 

“Oh, my,” Virtue said, actually genuinely impressed. “And what have they been doing, hiding away so as to squander their talents?”

 

“NOBODY WANTED TO HIRE THEM BECAUSE PEOPLE JUST SAW THEM AS LABORERS.”

 

“How unfortunate,” Virtue drawled. “Yes, I think that can be very neatly arranged. I’m going to let you out now, Gadget.”

 

He walked over to the door and pressed the unlock button, opening it. Gadget scuttled out from under the table to press herself into the far corner, vents heaving. “DON’T TOUCH ME.”

 

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Virtue said, gesturing to the open doorway, “But the exit’s this way.”

 

Gadget got to her feet slowly, and took a tentative step, entire body still trembling. Hesitantly, she made her way over, and skipped and skittered her way around Virtue, angling her body when she passed him so that her back never graced his eyesight. “NOW WHAT?”

 

“Now,” Virtue said, “we get you to a clinic to make sure you’re alright --”

 

“NO CLINIC,” Gadget rushed out. “DON’T WANT A CLINIC.”

 

“Relax, Gadget,” Virtue said, “I’ll make sure the drug results are inconclusive, at the very least.” Gadget did relax, nodding tersely, and so Virtue started to walk out, beckoning over his shoulder. “This way.”

 

Heels clicking, Gadget followed him, seemingly a completely different person. Energon dripped from one of her wrists where she’d broken through plating in an attempt to free herself and the handcuffs had broken through armor. When she and Virtue went out the back of the Citadel to discreetly slip away to a clinic nearby, they saw a crowd gathered at the steps of the Citadel, reporters clamoring. Virtue let out a quiet “ugh!” under his breath, knowing he’d have to deal with all of them. He got Gadget into a clinic and paid off one of the nurses on the side to “lose” the fuel tests for drugs. Gadget was put on a mild natural sedative to decrease her sparkrate back to safe levels, and released on her own recognizance. She walked out to see Virtue still in the waiting room, and flicked a finial.

 

“SO NOW WHAT?”

 

“Now,” Virtue said, “You go home as I clean up Prowl’s mess. You’ll start at the Citadel tomorrow, how does that sound? Bring your friends as well, so that I can meet them myself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> translations inbound! i'll do a direct translation and then one that's more legible to english speakers, if it's needed.
> 
> 1\. "Yakkers! How are you?"
> 
> 2\. "West (direction of the sunset)! I'm good (fine), I'm good( fine)! You (he/him)?"  
>  \- "West, Sunset Direction! I'm fine, I'm fine! You?"
> 
> 3\. "Ah, you know. Is the spacebridge, uh, is it ready?"
> 
> 4\. "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Go on through(all clear)."  
>  \- "Oh. Yeah, yeah. Go on through, you're good."
> 
> 5\. "Thanks!"
> 
> 6\. "Virtue (purity, grace)! And how are you(he/him)? Good(well, in good health), I(he/him) hope?"  
>  \- "Virtue, of Purity and Grace! And how are you? In good health, I hope?"
> 
> 7\. "West (direction of the sunset) of Statsin, how good to see you(he/him). You(he/him) look good(well, in good health)."  
>  \- "West, Sunset Direction of Statsin, how good to see you. You look in good health."
> 
> 8\. (Autobot Neocybex) "I think that... you... you... you, have shit pai-"
> 
> 9\. "What our dear(sarcastically) ambassador(stupid) is trying to say is, your paint looks lovely! But, where did my manners go? I(he/him) am West(direction of the sunset) of Statsin, as you(he/him) know, and this is... Johns-"  
>  \- "What our _dear_ ambassador (the idiot) is trying to say is, your paint looks lovely! But, where did my manners go? I'm West, Sunset Direction of Statsin, as you know, and this is... Johns-"
> 
> 10\. "Johnson."
> 
> 11\. "I(he/him) see... you(he/him) and I(he/him) both know that that wasn't what they(he/him) were trying to say."  
>  \- "I see... you and I both know that that wasn't what he was trying to say."
> 
> 12\. "Give(pleading, humbling) me a break, they(he/him) are stupid -- very stupid."  
>  \- "Give me a break, he's stupid -- very stupid."
> 
> 13\. "Quite... it's not a matter(all forgiven). I(he/him) thank(pleased) you(he/him) for your joining/attendance, West(direction of the sunset) of Statsin, and Johnson of..."  
>  \- "Quite... it's no matter. I'm thankful for your attendance, West, Sunset Direction of Statsin, and Johnson of..." 
> 
> 14\. "Maine... Johnson of Maine."
> 
>  
> 
> That's all in this chapter. There's going to be more neocybex in coming chapters! :D what do you all think of part 2 so far?


	3. Chatoyant (Whether Through Intimidation or Flattery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lost Light is off to a rough start, but Gadget and the others are faring decently for the circumstances. West gets an interesting call from someone he hasn't spoken to in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings:**
> 
> **flippant, insulting reference to mental health when Magnus calls Gadget insane while he looks over the crew manifesto**
> 
> **mentions of drug use in gadget's sections, as this small mini-arc of hers follows her journey getting an adequate support system to finally become lastingly sober.**
> 
> **gadget gets into a fight with whirl, but it's not shown in great bloody detail. small mention of eye gore but then the fight is over.**
> 
> **mentions of sleep paralysis towards the end of the chapter and the feeling of being unable to breathe.**
> 
> **West calls his abusive father as emotional self-harm and they get into a screaming match. Later on West's father calls to apologize.**
> 
> **As always during Ambassador Johnson's scenes, warnings for transphobia and purposeful misgendering as well as just general man-creepiness. yuck.**
> 
> **that's all i can think of but if you need anything else tagged please let me know!!!!**
> 
> \------------
> 
> for the bits in neocybex, the bolded parts of words are supposed to be subscripted subglyphs! translations will be in the end notes.

Flux looked up at the holoscreen on the street corner playing its message. It was mounted on a pole, with others circling around it so those all around could have a view. She crossed her arms, anxiety and insecurity blooming as she swallowed.

 

“What happens here tomorrow,” Hot Rod (Rodimus Prime, she’d heard? He seemed too good for being a Prime, it was a shame) announced, “will rank alongside those moments. Tomorrow, this patch of land becomes a launch pad. Tomorrow, I will board the Lost Light and set off in search of our ancestors.”

 

He had gotten good at rhetoric, she had to give him that. He had excellent form. He seemed so different, much more confident in himself, and the part of her that had met him all those years ago was soothed by the fact that he’d seemed to come into his own a bit. But… tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the day her veritable exile from Cybertron -- her home -- started. She’d never get to see if Crestover got rebuilt. She’d heard the Hematite mountains had gotten reforged when the planet healed, as did Tally River. It seemed that the land remembered its landmarks and wasn’t compromising on them, even though they’d been blown off the face of the planet. She sighed, and drooped, trudging back to the missile silo to begin her goodbyes to her units. She’d told them she was leaving with Rodimus as part of the agreement, but she wanted to give them a proper goodbye before she did so. It was a long night of gathering up everyone she could to tell them and getting hug after teary hug. Regus and Carapace and Oracle all gripped her tightly in a group hug and put their forehelms to her helm, their fields pulsing support and well wishes.

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Chug, Hock, Keeper and Flight all whistled, crammed around the datapad Chug was holding as a tinny message rang out -- “... it’s time to see the universe without a gun in your hand,” the voice said. They’d done well for themselves -- Hock was head secretary of the Citadel now, overseeing all filing and managerial work. She knew where every single file in that Citadel was save for personal reading material of its occupants. She’d even met the human ambassador many a time when he filed his reports -- both of them, actually. She was heartily endeared by one and very disdainful of the other. She’d even called him “selfish,” which Gadget had learned was a grave offense.

 

Chug had become an artist in the Citadel, painting walls with vast and intricate murals, including one in the back wall of the main lobby telling the story of the war with painful detail. The decision to put up the mural and have a Decepticon oversee its completion had not been a popular one, but Bumblebee had insisted upon Virtue’s counsel. Chug had taken the idea to task and run with it, spanning the chronicle from corner to corner. From Senate to Simanzi to slaughter, all was present. Not a detail was dipped in sweetener -- but there were tender moments where one least expected it. An Autobot medic tending to a felled Con soldier, or vice versa, or Autobots protecting organics from the horrors the Decepticons had wreaked. A Decepticon that Gadget vaguely recognized as Flux standing before the Conclave, passionately and emotionally shouting for “all things good n’ right,” as Chug had described it. They were proud of their work.

 

Flight had become a forensic linguistic analyst, and was excelling with glee. He’d even brought home some gossip. “You know that human ambassador,” he had said, “the baby one? He speaks with a Lower Crestover accent! Imagine that, huh? One of our own, in the government!” The others had all agreed cheerfully, with Hock chiming in that “he’s a runt but he’s got a set of pipes in him” and Keeper proclaiming that he liked that the “baby” had a little flair. Flight had gone on to talk about other facets of his job -- cataloging vast swathes of non-aligned dialects and lexicons, along with all of Lower Crestover’s various accents and dialects as his personal side-project. He’d even roped in the ambassador for a sample, apparently. “We’s gotta have all kindsa data,” he’d proclaimed, nodding firmly. “The kid’s a good example of how it’s not just species-based.”

 

Keeper had become a very prominent physicist in the Citadel, working in one of the labs. He’d even crossed paths with ReDouble, apparently, though they’d gotten off on the wrong foot when ReDouble had used the formal “you” with him by accident. It was quickly smoothed out and now they were even friends. Apparently, Keeper’s favorite coworker was Wheeljack.

 

Gadget herself had become intensely, intimately involved with Citadel security, insidiously worming metaphorical fingers into every nook and cranny. A cybermouse didn’t breathe within its walls without her knowledge. Virtue seemed to appreciate her drivenness, but Bumblebee had made repeated attempts to get her to “relax, kick back a little”. Gadget had brushed the idea aside. This was her job, and she was going to be perfect at it. She was going to know  **_everything._ **

 

Gadget looked up, and over at them, at their fascination with the announcement. “WHAT’S HE TALKING ABOUT?”

 

“Oh, it’s a thing, he’s saying they’s gonna look for the Knights of Cybertron,” Hock said. Gadget turned around to face the group a little better.

 

“WHAT, LIKE ON A SHIP?”

 

“Yeah!”

 

“WHEN DOES IT LEAVE?”

 

“Tomorrow, in the afternoon,” Keeper said, looking up at her. “You lookin’ to hop on, little drifter?”

 

Gadget looked at her feet. “MAYBE.”

 

“I think you’d have a blast,” Chug offered, smiling.

 

“YOU’RE NOT UPSET I MIGHT WANT TO LEAVE?”

 

“We don’t got thin plating,” Flight said, “You’s always welcome back. You’s got our frequencies. You should go, if you’s wantin’ to go.”

 

Gadget nodded, thinking about it, and sighed heavily. “BUT I LIKE IT HERE.”

 

“Yeah,” Hock said, “but you can always come back here. That pretty boat’s only gonna take off once.”

 

Gadget looked away, twiddling her claws. The breeze came through the open boxy windows, stirring up some dust on the floor. They hadn’t moved houses despite all of them having steady jobs -- there was just something sentimental about the place and they were comfortable here. Time felt slow in moments like this. Flight cleared his throat. “Y’know,” he said, “if you go now and gas it at a healthy clip, you could make it to signup. It’s outside the Citadel,” he prompted, leading. That seemed to jolt her awake, and she nodded, and then nodded again, standing.

 

“I’M GOING,” she said, “I’LL BE BACK AFTER I SIGN UP.”

 

“If you can’t find us here when you come back from your voyage,” Chug said, half-mocking a higher class accent before slipping back into their normal one, “we was gonna try and go back to Tally at some point. We was thinkin that we could grab some other Tallians and maybe do a little restoration effort. Maybe a Keg Raisin’ too.”

 

Gadget nodded, and started to walk out. 

 

“Wait!” Hock cried, and Gadget stopped. Hock kept speaking. “We should all take a picture so you’s got somethin’ to take with you, little drifter.”

 

Gadget’s spark bubbled and she flicked a finial, nodding jerkily and scurrying over to sit in front of the group. Chug cancelled the announcement on the datapad and pulled up the forward facing camera, holding it out in front of the group. All four of Gadget’s friends beamed and Gadget flashed a little “:3” face on her screen for the picture.

 

“Got it,” Chug said, lowering the datapad. With a few strokes of their fingers, the image popped up in everyone’s comm suite. “Now go’n little drifter, get. Wouldn’t want you t’miss signup.”

 

Gadget nodded and got up, jogging out the door and closing it behind herself. When she hit the street she transformed, swerving out onto the street with a screech of rubber on road and fishtailed her way into the lane, righting herself and speeding off towards the citadel. She pulled up on the signup station and pulled over to the sidewalk, transforming to hop into a quick walk down the sidewalk. 

 

She approached one of the tables, with the sun beating down on everyone present. Gadget strode up to the attendant and decisively put her name down. They tiredly handed her the credentials that would get her on the ship, and she strode off to go… she trailed to a stop, looking at the ticket. What would she do in the meantime? It wasn’t till tomorrow afternoon. She jerked upright. ReDouble! She hadn’t seen him in ages. She took off in his direction. When she got to his apartment block, she threw open the door to the street and pounded her way up to the stairs excitedly, spark thundering. She got to his door and knocked like her life depended on it, suddenly beyond excited.

 

ReDouble opened the door. “What in the hell -- Gadget! Oh, my goodness, come in! Please! How have you been?”

 

“GOOD,” Gadget said, “I MADE FRIENDS. I LIVE WITH THEM.”

 

“Oh, thank god,” ReDouble said, “I was so worried about you! Here, sit. I’ll make you something hot, if you’d like?”

 

“YEAH.”

 

ReDouble scurried off to the kitchen, which was across the room from the open-concept living room. Gadget looked over at him. “BY THE WAY,” she said, “I’M GOING ON THAT SHIP. THE LOST LIGHT.”

 

“You are!” ReDouble gushed, looking her way. “That’s excellent! You’d better comm me often.”

 

Gadget looked at her claws and wished she could smile. “YEAH. YEAH, I WILL.”

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


West lounged on his bed, eating popcorn from a bag in his pajamas. It was late. His room had been appropriated from a storage closet, but felt more like a master suite. They’d managed to fit in a master bath as well and he still had lots of space. It was great!

 

He leaned back on the bed and smiled to himself smugly, eating a few more popcorn pieces. Oh, if his child self could see him now -- what a place to end up. What a payoff! His dullard father could never have made it here -- he didn’t have the guts. And certainly not his mother -- she was too busy propping up his father and stroking his ego. West allowed himself to stew in bitterness for a moment and thought about his baby sister -- she had to be what, five by now? Five or six. He didn’t really care. She was their little princess, their little golden angel who could do no wrong, and she was a horrible brat because of it. West felt himself getting angrier and angrier and sulkily ate more popcorn, deep in thought. Why was  _ he _ the disappointment?  _ He _ was  _ ambassador _ to a  _ foreign planet _ and Makaleigh or whatever her name was (he knew it he was just being ugly about it) still hadn’t stopped eating her boogers. He had a shred of awareness where he felt a little guilty being so deep in competition with a five year old -- and competitive without her or his parents’ knowledge at that -- but it vanished and he went back to feeling better about himself with the knowledge that he was the only successful person out of that entire garbage family. Finding the bag empty when he reached for more popcorn, he groaned and got up to throw it away, trudging back over to flop into bed. 

 

Dealing with Johnson was a hair-pulling nightmare. He was transphobic and sexist as shit, not to mention he thought he knew best because he was an old, white, cishet man with kids. He’d even tried to give West some “fatherly advice” because West was “a young girl far away from home with so much pressure.” West had almost cold-cocked him right there. Ugh. The young ambassador growled loudly and rolled over, punching a pillow to make himself feel better. When it didn’t he sat up to really whale on it, punching the shit out of it and working himself into a fervor to release some steam. Finally, he sat back and sighed, a little out of breath. This sucked. He was in a bad fucking mood. He was in a bad mood and he was in the mood to do something about it, but not something like “take a hot bath” or “read something nice and relaxing.”

 

_ No, _ West thought, as he glanced over at his phone on the nightstand, he was in the mood for something a little more… exciting. He leaned over to grab his phone, sitting back as he opened it and scrolled through his contacts. His father was on there somewhere… West smiled in vicious delight when he saw the number and violently pressed his thumb to the screen to select it, pressing “Call.” As it rang, he put it to his ear and flopped back into bed on his back, sinking into the plush sheets.

 

“Clement McLambert speaking,” a gruff voice answered. “May I ask who’s calling?”

 

“Oh,” West said, fake-sadly, and heard the breath on the other end of the line pause. “You deleted my contact information? That’s so hurtful, Dad.” As if. The bastard had probably never had it in the first place.

 

“West?”

 

“He’s speaking,” West cooed, sweetly. “How are things, father dearest?”

 

“You little --” Clement sighed harshly and West could almost hear his teeth grinding. “What do you want?”

 

“Just to check on my darling parents, whom I miss so dearly,” West sighed dramatically, laying the back of his hand over his forehead as if he were a wealthy Victorian maiden with a case of the vapours. “Is that a crime?”

 

“What, you run off and think you can just call back and everything will be fine? You need to come home, kid,” Clement said, voice still rough but not outright yelling -- which was frustrating. It wasn’t what West was here for. Well, he still knew how to press his father’s buttons just right. He’d get a rise out of the man. “We need you around the house. McKalie’s a lot to handle with both of us having jobs. Besides, you need a high school degree to do anything with your life, and a college one too.”

 

“So, you want me to come home and babysit  _ your _ kid,” West said, almost incredulous, “is that what I’m getting?”

 

“It’s not babysitting, West, don’t be dense. She’s your  _ sister. _ You’ve been gone most of her life, is it so hard to be a big brother and show up? You missed her graduation to kindergarten because you were off gallivanting and yammering about robots.”

 

“Oh, heavens, me,” West cried, throwing his head to the side as if Clement could see him. “What shall she _ do? _ How will she  _ cope? _ Such  _ tragedy! _ It will be burned into her tiny kid brain  _ forever! _ ”

 

“Listen here,” Clement snarled, getting West’s heart pitter-pattering in excitement-tinged anxiety. It was the adrenaline. “You think you’re so smart but where are you? Stuck in some city having to beg for food, I bet. How’d you get the money to make this call, or do I want to know?”

 

“Oh,” West said, trying not to laugh. He mostly kept it out of his voice, “Clement. Oh, sweet, dear, Clement. You don’t know, do you?”

 

“Know what? How many people you rent yourself out to a night?”

 

West burst into laughter, and it was mean, ugly, self-righteous, smug laughter. He laughed, and laughed, and laughed, tears leaking from his eyes.  _ “You,” _ he managed, “are so stupid it’s almost funny.”

 

“Quit fucking laughing at me, you snotty little shit! You don’t have shit to laugh about -- at least I have a house and a wife. What have you got?”

 

West sobered in an instant. “I have a job,” he began, “as the  _ human ambassador to Cybertron. _ I have a truly  _ giant _ room, a master bathroom with a tub and a shower, my own mini-kitchen, and I have expensive clothes and nice food. I have soft blankets and people  _ adore _ me on Twitter and in real life. I know two languages and going on three dialects of that second language. I win, Clement,” he sneered into the phone, face twisting into something ugly. “I win. I’m  _ better _ than you. I’m  _ smarter _ than you. I’m  _ more successful than you. _ Still at that secretary job, dad?”

 

Screaming erupted from the other line, and West held the phone away from his ear, heart pounding despite his nonchalant expression. He just waiting for the screaming to trail off before he put it back to his ear. “You done?”

 

More yelling -- West took the phone away again until it died down quickly after. When he put it back, he heard typing, like a keyboard. Clement started to laugh. West’s satisfaction quickly turned to rage.

 

“What’s so fucking funny?” he snapped into the phone. “Huh? What is it?”

 

“Ambassador my ass!” Clement cackled, and West saw red. “You’re barely an  _ intern! _ Johnson Barrow is the real ambassador -- you’re just the coffee boy! Do you suck his dick, too?”

 

West lost it, screeching into the phone and taking it away from his ear so he could yell more efficiently into the microphone. He screamed until he was red in the face and his blood pounded in his ears and Clement was screaming right back, calling West all sorts of terrible names and slandering his character, saying that he’d never amount to anything no matter how much he tried and being a disappointment was just in his blood. West had shouted back  _ “well then it had to come from  _ **_somewhere_ ** _ , and  _ **_mom_ ** _ is actually fucking  _ **_competent!”_ ** which had just resulted in more screaming. Clement had said something else about how West could cut throats all he liked, but he wasn’t going to get any closer to the top, which West had replied to with “speaking from experience, are you, you prick?”

 

More shouting. West’s voice was hoarse at this point, and he was saying terrible things too -- insulting all sorts of weak points he knew his father had. His job, his social status, his beer paunch. The fact that he was balding, his crooked teeth that weren’t actually all that crooked -- West just knew he was self-conscious about them. Then it was all of his emotional shortcomings -- his temper, his tantrums, the fact that he acted like a child. The fact that he had the emotional depth of an ant farm in one of those tiny glass cases, and the fact that he liked to whale on his own kid to feel more like a man because he couldn’t buy a big truck to compensate. Oh, West went for it  _ all. _

 

Clement hung up him, and West screamed in frustration because he’d wanted to hang up on Clement first. Panting, he flopped back from where he’d sat up to yell and stared up at the impossibly high ceiling, chest heaving as he recovered. His throat was sore. His arms were flat out, resting on the bed, and he closed his eyes in an attempt to calm down. He started to cry a little, rolling over onto his side to drop his phone and bury his face in his hands, sniffling. Clement was right; what was West doing? He was a failure. He’d never be enough. West cried himself out and decided to take a little walk around the halls to calm down. He got up, tossing his phone onto the bed, and sighed, swiping at his eyes before trudging barefoot outside, opening his smaller door at the bottom of the actual door. He closed it behind himself, and walked outside, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pajama pants and scuffing a heel on the floor before starting to meander away, depressed. He walked for a minute or two before footsteps came to his attention, and Virtue loomed in front of him.

 

“West,” he greeted, ever-polite, “What are you doing up so late? Sleep is particularly important for your species, is it not?”

 

“Yeah,” West said, shrugging. “Just couldn’t sleep.”

 

“Something happened,” Virtue guessed, getting on one knee and putting his palm out for West to climb into. West accepted the invitation, moping his way onto the offered palm and sitting down morosely. 

 

“Yeah,” he said, “you could say that.”

 

“Not to pry, but might I inquire as to what it was?”

 

“I just got into a fight with my dad,” West said, and Virtue’s brow furrowed.

 

“The… plump little man who wears sweater vests? I thought you’d told me he was quite nice. And that you hadn’t called him in a long time?”

 

“No, no,” West said, waving a hand as his eyes closed. “Biological, sorry. Clement McLambert. We got into a screaming match.”

 

“Oh dear,” Virtue murmured, continuing his idle journey.

 

“Yeah,” West said, watching the ground move beneath Virtue’s hand. It was always an exhilarating feeling. “It put me in a bad mood. We haven’t spoken for years. He --” West sighed through his nose. “He said that I’m just the coffee boy and I wouldn’t amount to anything.”

 

“This man must be very stupid, then,” Virtue snorted, “because you’re clearly the more competent of our two ambassadors from Earth. You’re fluent in two dialects of our language and can hold your own in several non-aligned dialects. You are prompt and thorough in your work and I can appreciate that. Yonsun, or -- whatever the man’s name is, is a  _ joke.” _

 

“I’m looking to get him out of my way,” West muttered to himself, “I just don’t know how, yet.”

 

“Oh,” Virtue drawled, and when West looked up, he was smirking, just barely. “I think that can be arranged.”

 

West hummed a tired laugh. “I should call my dad. Wesley, I mean, not my -- yeah. But I don’t want to.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Well,” West said, “I don’t know, imagine it. ‘Hey, Dad, I know it’s been five years since you, Arthur and Ehsan have heard from me, and also I kept getting into trouble when I lived with you, but I’m on a foreign planet now as an ambassador! Want to chat?”

 

“There’s no way that they don’t already know,” Virtue said, trying to keep the scoff out of his voice. “Do they not have a holovid screen?”

 

“Oh, no, they do,” West said, “Wesley just doesn’t watch the news and Ehsan is really busy with trying to become a doctor. Either that, or… they saw it and just didn’t care enough to call me.”

 

“I doubt it,” Virtue dismissed, and West thought he saw gears turning in the robot’s head. “Perhaps you’ll see them soon.”

  
  


\------------------------------

  
  


Flux approached the entrance bay, thankful that the line was in an empty lull. A red-and-white bot stood at the door with a datapad, and Flux did her best to look like she wasn’t about to tremble out of her plating when she walked up to him. “Um, hi,” she said, catching his attention. “I’m here to board.” The bot’s eyes were as wide as Cybertron’s two moons, and glanced back down at his datapad. Flux laughed uncomfortably. “I’m uh, I’m definitely on there,” she said, brandishing her copy of the signed DRA. The bot took it from her and looked it over, and looked back up at her.

 

“Major General Flux,” he said, through gritted teeth as he handed the datapad back to her, “welcome aboard. Go see the Captain before you do anything else, and I’m going to be keeping a very close eye on you.”

 

“Mm-hm,” Flux agreed, before boarding and going to do as directed. She made her way to the bridge and knocked. The doors opened to reveal the hulking form of Ultra Magnus standing over the Captain’s chair, lecturing who was in it. Its back was turned to the door. Magnus glanced up and trailed off when he laid eyes on her.

 

“What? What is it?” a voice said, one that Flux recognized as Rodimus’, before he spun the Captain’s chair around. His jaw dropped a little. _ “You?” _

 

“Yes, sir,” Flux said, pulling out her copy of the DRA. She couldn’t lie, she was happy to see the fiery speedster. “I’m included in the DRA so long as I leave Cybertron permanently, and Prowl saw fit to put me on this ship.”

 

“Did he,” Rodimus muttered flatly. “Uh, yeah, come in. Everyone else out for now, ‘cept for you, Mags.”

 

“Magnus,” the armored giant corrected sternly, and Flux stood aside to let the others, who were glowering suspiciously at her, out. Then, Magnus looked to Flux, extending his hand. “Give me your copy of the Reintegration Act, please?”

 

Flux walked forwards to hand it to him so he could look it over, and glanced at Rodimus. “How have you been, Rodimus? It’s been a while.”

 

“Fine,” the Captain said, looking away. “So I guess you want to be a crew member, huh?”

 

“I’m fine with wherever you put me,” Flux said, “I’m tired of all this conflict.”

 

Rodimus seemed to appreciate that, looking her up and down before looking back at Magnus. “How’s it coming?”

 

“It’s legitimate,” Magnus said, and nodded with finality, eyes rooted to the datapad. He then tore his gaze away and handed it back to Flux, nodding at her. “Welcome aboard, ex-Major General.”

 

“Thank you,” she coughed, “so… should I…?”

 

“Just go ahead to the clinic so you can get your baseline physical,” Rodimus said, waving a hand. Flux nodded, and cleared her throat, starting to leave. Rodimus called for her to wait.

 

“And, Flux?” he said, looking her over with a critical eye. “Thank you for your advice back then. I didn’t forget it.”

 

She allowed herself to smile, and nodded heartily, taking her leave of the bridge. She wandered until she found the medibay, poking her head in to peek around the doorway before walking in. A very familiar set of crimson backplates was sitting at the desk on the far wall. Flux gaped.

 

“Havoc?” She said, and the bot whipped around in their chair, eyes molten with shock.

 

“Flux?” Havoc said, standing abruptly. Flux walked over, pace quick. The doors shut behind her. Havoc kept speaking, closing the distance between them. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

“What are you doing here?” Flux questioned back, shocked. As it sunk in, delight took hold of her and she beamed. “It’s been so long!” And with that, she brought Havoc into a hug, squeezing. Havoc smacked her arm.

 

“Let go of me, you big oaf,” she said without real venom. Flux let go anyways and Havoc straightened herself out, hands migrating to her hips. “You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, smile falling a little, “uh, Prowl put me on the ship. I’m included in the Decepticon Reintegration Act so long as I never return to Cybertron. Virtue wanted me off the planet because he said I was a destabilizing force.”

 

“Shit,” Havoc said, blinking at her. “Well, uh, what are you here for?”

 

“Rodimus said I had to get my baseline physical,” Flux said cheerfully. “When are we due to take off?”

 

“Few minutes, I think,” Havoc said, gesturing over to one of the berths. On another one, Whirl of Polyhex rested, his cockpit shorn messily by some kind of blast. Flux’s brows furrowed. 

 

“What happened to  _ him?” _

 

“Oh, that mad bastard? He laid down on top of an explosion. Shit’s wild. Here, go sit down and we’ll get started.” 

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


“He’s dangerous, he’s delusional, he’s a liar, he’s mad -- literally mad…” Magnus muttered, reading over the manifest. “He was demoted after that incident with the turbofox… I arrested him for impersonating a senior officer… he owes me money…” Drift and Rodimus quickly glanced at each other as Magnus kept going, mostly to himself. “I don’t trust him or him, especially in their combined form, and if he’s who I think he is, never, ever let him near a crossbow. And those are just the A’s.” His eyes kept flicking over the list as he scrolled, still mumbling. “She’s got a  _ record _ of shady behavior longer than my arm…” He paused dead after another minute.

 

Then, he looked at Rodimus. “Gadget of Carthex? We have  _ Gadget _ aboard?”

 

“Yeah?” Rodimus said, one brow going up. “We have a bunch of people.”

 

“Yes, but Gadget is  _ insane,” _ Magnus said, stating it as fact -- nothing more, nothing less.

 

“Shit, so are half the people on this ship!” Rodimus said, brushing it aside as he glanced over at Drift again by accident, smiling a little half-smile when they met eyes. “It’s fine, Magnus, really.”

 

“You should have posted  _ me _ at the door,” Magnus said, handing the manifesto back. “I would have turned away any wayward characters.”

 

“Your definition of a wayward character is an Autobot who wears his badge at an angle,” Rodimus snorted playfully, smiling. Magnus grew stern.

 

“Yes, in direct contravention of the Military Regalia Act!”

 

Rodimus shook his head, arms crossed. “I sometimes wonder how you see the world, my friend.”

 

A hectic few minutes later and they were getting ready for launch. “Incoming call from Bumblebee,” Magnus said, looking over at Rodimus. The baby Prime was staring dead ahead, determined to finally get this ship off the ground. “Do you want to take it?”

 

“No,” Rodimus said. Drift turned around the the bridge and gave the order for takeoff. Rodimus was hit with a swelling burst of pride in his chest and almost smiled before the ship was hit with the swelling burst of an explosion.

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


Johnson sighed as he placed his jacket on the coathanger in his office and his briefcase on his desk. Going through the spacebridge never seemed to get easier despite the fact that he’d been doing it nearly every day for weeks now. West lived here -- Johnson had no idea how she did it, cut off from in-person contact with humanity on a daily basis. He went over to where her office connected via a short hallway with his, and knocked on the door.

 

_ “Iya?” _ Came the voice from inside, seemingly distracted.  _ “Hyow t’estal?” _

 

“West,” Johnson said, “We have that meeting with the Council of Worlds today, are you ready?”

 

“Oh,” West said, and shuffling sounded in the office. Johnson stumbled back just a tad as the door opened, revealing his coworker’s face. She had a very odd sort of attractive spitfire in her eyes and the way she held her jaw. “Yeah. I need to fill out a few reports but they’re not for the Council -- I just want them done before I have to leave.”

 

“I see,” Johnson said. “You look tired, are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” West waved aside, going back into her office to grab a few things. “I’m moving to the observatory lounge to soak up some sun while I work. Feel free to come with -- or not.” Lately, ever since that ship --  _ Lost Light? Last Light? _ Had blown up, West had been off-kilter and out of sorts, moody and sullen when she thought that others weren’t looking. He had tried asking her about it but she’d just brushed him aside.

 

Shrugging, Johnson decided to follow her and grabbed his briefcase on the way, trekking the long haul to the observatory lounge, where the fresh Cybertronian sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling, grand windows. Some of them almost looked like stained glass, making a shattered myriad of colors drip across the floor.

 

West glanced over and saw him looking, and then went over to a smaller area for minibots who might have trouble with the bigger furniture and hauled herself up onto a couch, flopping into a comfortable position. Johnson found a seat as well and the two worked in silence, until West’s phone rang. She glanced at the screen of it, groaned, and pressed a button on her earpiece. “Hello?” she answered. “What do you want?”

 

Chattering on the other end of the line -- Johnson could just barely make it out. “Hey, kid. I’m sorry for yelling a few days ago. We haven’t spoken in years, so maybe we could try it again?” 

 

Johnson could see the conflict ooze out of every pore on West’s face. But she pursed her lips and sighed. 

 

“Fine,” she said, “Alright.”

 

“Good,” the other person said, “so you said you learned three languages? That’s actually pretty impressive, son.”

 

More conflict -- West groomed at her uniform, a more casual version of her ceremonial one for announcements and broadcasts. Finally her face settled on a proud little smile, just barely there.

 

“Thanks, Dad,” she said, and Johnson raised an eyebrow. This was her  _ father? _

 

“Can you speak something, in robot language or whatever it’s called?”

 

West did roll her eyes. It always bugged her so whenever people didn’t know the name of the language.  _ “Yai,” _ she said, _ “Io _ _ te _ _ t’tyanarat ka tes nunames _ **_och_ ** _ duer Firchoi _ **_wamai_ ** _**,** miovra quaima _ **_xa_ _.” [1]_ **

 

“Wow,” the tinny voice on the other end of the line said, “Yeah, that’s real impressive, son.”

 

West’s smile turned even softer and she bit her lip, looking down at where her hands were fiddling with themselves. “Ah…  _ p’kyantmarat-quu _ _ t **e** _ **_.” [2]_ **

 

“What?”

 

West cleared her throat as the sentiment cleared from her face as well. “Nothing,” she said, “Thanks. Look, I have to go. Talk later?” She hung up before her father could answer and sighed loudly, head tilting back before she started working on the datapad in her lap again. They worked for a few minutes longer before West sat up, shimmying off of the couch and jumping to the floor, leaning into the landing, straightening back up from her crouch. “Well,” she said, “time to go, I guess. Council of Worlds is in a few minutes. C’mon.”

 

They walked at a healthy clip towards the meeting room, where Virtue met them halfway there. West smiled up at him and Virtue spared her a (favorable?) glance. 

 

_ “Soongna,” _ Virtue said, dipping his helm. West replied in kind, and Johnson furrowed his brow. He’d learned it as  _ “Sunya,” _ which meant “good morning,” but it seemed they were speaking a different dialect. The kid did speak Deception or Decepticon or whatever it was. West’s “subglyphs” or whatever she’d attached to her name also sounded different from what Johnson had learned -- he had been taught that  _ “kasoon” _ was pronounced  _ “kysun.” _

 

Virtue and West chatted on the way to the hall, where Virtue boosted West up to the table, where a spot directly adjacent to his seat had two sitting mats the humans’ size with tables for them to put their work. Johnson also got a boost and took his place next to West, who was already sorting through work. Johnson muttered “S’pose it’s too late to ask you to get me a coffee” and West’s fists clenched until they were white knuckled. She looked over to the edge of the table and peered over it.

 

“I’d say about fifteen to twenty feet too late,” she deadpanned, and then the door opened. In walked a bright, cherry red mech with broad shoulders and a smooth, pale white faceplate. West smiled brightly at him. “Ah, Dylgama Niome Da **jame** **!** Hoyk wovellenya t’ayesir-quu!” [3]

 

“Neh quu,” The bot said, who by Johnson’s best estimate was named “Knock Out”. A smile melted across his face as easy as butter. “Dektaton Neocybex? Miovra, miovra… t’estal Optimus **pymna** ka buer hythi tat? Neh, hyow t’estal quuvra zepra?” [4]

 

“Wiich **kasoon** **,”** West said, still smiling, “pabe **statsin** **.** Io **te** t’estal diplamante duer Earth, hythi miovra wevino Yonsun pabe **maiyne.” [5]**

 

The robot’s dark, but still bright red eyes flicked to him and looked him up and down. “Ah,” he said, and looked back to West. “Io **te** k’izunarat tat quu **te** t’estap ym komen?” [6]

 

“Ah,” West said, smile tight, “Nore noiqe.” [7]

 

“Hoyk norevortem,” Knock Out said, lifting a brow before sliding into his seat. He flashed a wink West’s way. Then, the Cybertronian delegate made his entrance and all got started. Johnson managed to hold his own, having learned enough of the language so he didn’t have to rely wholly on West. The meeting went smoothly enough, and West and Johnson went their separate ways after it was concluded. [8]

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Havoc looked over the list of her assigned patients, frowning as she tapped a stylus on the desk idly. She’d only come on this ship because she’d heard that Ratchet -- her old teacher -- was going, and boy had it been nice to see the grumpy old fuck. But Havoc had more to worry about. Like how she’d managed to track down and drag in every person on this list for their baseline physical -- every person except Gadget of Carthex. The mech was a damn ghost -- Havoc had seen her rounding the corner and shouted for her to get back here, she needed that god damn physical, and then by the time Havoc had caught up, Gadget was gone. So Havoc had read Gadget’s file to see what she was dealing with. Ex-convict, been in a detox program… Gadget was disinclined to trust people. Havoc knew the feeling. But that didn’t mean she got a free pass on her physical and Havoc was going to drag her in here by the wires if need be. It seemed the only time that Gadget stayed in one place long enough to track down was when she was on her shifts -- Havoc checked the crew log for the day and saw that Gadget was on shift on the bridge. She commed Rodimus.

 

**:Hey. Gadget has a physical she’s been dodging. I’m coming to make sure she gets it. You don’t need to tell her.:**

 

Rodimus’s reply was near-instant.  **:Oh, yeah sure. Are you on your way?:**

 

**:Leaving now.:** Havoc got up and walked out, on a mission of her own. She had… calmed down, she had to admit, since her mid-war days. She no longer cared about whether or not Ultra Magnus lived or died by her hand, and she didn’t like to think about that.

 

On the bridge, Gadget was working next to Drift (they had consoles next to each other.) Drift was trying to engage her in some friendly conversation, but she was slow to bite. He was talking about auras. Apparently, Rodimus had a pretty one. Drift glanced over at her and sobered.

 

“Your aura is like screen static,” he murmured, seemingly concerned. Gadget shied away from his gaze and drew her plating in. “It’s so conflicted and jittery. And you draw it so close, like your EM field. Are you okay?”

 

“I’M FINE,” Gadget muttered, finials flattening. “JUST PRIVATE.”

 

“Mhm,” Drift said, nodding, “you know-”

 

The bridge doors slid open and Gadget heard someone clear their throat very loudly. She ignored it. Wasn’t her problem, whatever it was. She missed Hock and Chug and Flight and Keeper. Did they think she was dead? Drift murmured something as apparently her aura took a turn for the more disheveled.

 

“Gadget of Carthex,” a loud voice rang out, and Gadget’s finials stood on edge as she snapped her screen to take in the source of the noise. A dark crimson jet stood with her feet shoulder-width apart in the doorway, molten eyes staring her down. The empurata’s finials flattened harshly.

 

“WHAT.” She snapped. She could give as good as she got, that was for sure. A quick facial scan indicated that this was Havoc of Helex, former Wrecker and former Decepticon medic. In spite of herself, without really realizing it, Gadget relaxed slightly.

 

“You’re due for a physical,” Havoc said. Dread crested once more at the thought of a physical. Gadget didn’t like people knowing things about her, let alone people who didn’t already know those things. If it were Haven, well, Gadget wouldn’t have avoided it. But Haven wasn’t here. Was he even alive? Had Tarn gotten to him before the war’s end?

 

“I’LL DO IT AFTER MY SHIFT,” Gadget said, starting to turn back to her console.

 

“No,” Havoc said firmly, “You’ll do it now.”

 

“I’M ON SHIFT,” Gadget said, a little desperately, and glanced at Rodimus for support.

 

“Hey, I appreciate the dedication,” he said, beaming, “but seriously, it’s alright. Go ahead, health first. Captain’s stamp of approval.”

 

That wasn’t the answer Gadget had been looking for. A little panicked, she glanced back to her console, saw her unfinished work, and resisted the overwhelming urge to flap her claws in frustration and panic. “FINE. FINE.” Harshly shutting down her console, she stormed over to Havoc, who didn’t wait for them to loiter deciding who would lead first. She just turned on her heel and led them both back to the medibay, shutting the doors behind them and gesturing to a berth. 

 

“Go ahead,” she said, “this’ll be over in like, ten minutes if you sit still and don’t be a jackass.”

 

Gadget stalked over to a berth and resisted the urge to fidget, tapping a claw irritatedly. This ship was cursed, she was thinking. It blew up barely minutes into its voyage, commlinks were down, and Gadget was getting chased down by rogue doctors. People were asking her questions, too, so many of them and they kept wanting to talk to her. Havoc approached her and scanned her for preliminary evaluation, humming at the results. Then she was picking up Gadget’s arm and inspecting the signs of shitty nanites -- the peeling paint, the generous coatings of clumped primer, globbed around flakelets of paint peeling too fast to control. The sheen of over-the-counter nanite ointment. “Bad nanites?”

 

“STRESS.”

 

“Fair enough,” Havoc said, and frowned at the way that Gadget’s aqua biolights around her screen and on her legs and codpiece flickered. “Those always act up?”

 

Gadget felt exposed and squinched in on herself, finials flattening. “I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT. STRESS.”

 

“Alright, alright,” Havoc said, “I’m just a doctor, kid, I gotta ask these questions. Lemme see your joints so I can check the wires.”

 

As nervous as she was, Gadget was soothed by the intimately familiar rhythm of a general checkup. Medibays did have a tendency to comfort her despite the initial building anxiety on the way to them. As soon as she sat down on a medibay berth she did feel a little calmer. If she offlined her screen she could almost pretend the fingers checking her joints and wires were Haven and she felt even more comforted. “Well,” Havoc said, shattering the comforting moment, “your wires are pretty good. Any adjustments needed for your screen?”

 

“NO. ALMOST DONE?”

 

“Hold on, hold on,” Havoc chastised, tightening the bolts on some of her loose backplating. It did feel a little better. “You gotta stop holding so much tension in your… huh, everywhere, kid. You loosened up your damn backplating because you’re wound so tight. Alright, almost done. One more thing and then you can go. I gotta draw some fuel.”

 

Gadget’s finials flattened in an instant, spark thundering. “THAT’S NOT ROUTINE. YOU JUST NEED NANITE SAMPLES, RIGHT?”

 

“Yeah, well, I’m the doctor,” Havoc said, going around to the tools table nearby and rifling through for a butterfly needle and a vial. “Your nanites and your biolights could be a problem. You could have a disorder, kid.”

 

“I DON’T,” Gadget said, scooting away from the needle when Havoc came over with it. “GET THAT AWAY FROM ME.”

 

“Kid, it’s fine,” Havoc said, “It’s not gonna hurt that bad, I even chose a small needle, see?”

 

“DON’T CARE,” Gadget rushed out, jerking her arm in close. “NO NEEDLES.”

 

Havoc sighed, and dipped her helm. “Kid, I gotta take this sample,” she said, “now, you can fight me on it and we can be here all day, or you can let me stick you and you can be out of here to finish up the thing you wanted to finish on the bridge.”

 

Gadget glanced to the doors, a little desperately, and shrieked as Havoc took the opportunity to stick her, panic rising as she watched the vial fill up with her fuel with a sickly sense of muted dread. Havoc finished the drawing and retracted the needle, pulling back. “There,” she said, “not that bad, huh? Alright,” the medic said, setting the needle and tube aside to look at the vial, holding it up to light and swishing it around. Gadget’s finials flattened. Her fuel gave her away so traitorously, so transparently. In the light, her magenta fuel was tinted softly purple because of how the drugs dyed her fuel, and tiny micelles of luminescent blue swirled. Havoc hummed thoughtfully. “You can go,” she said, “I’ll probably call you back soon, though.”

 

“PLEASE DON’T,” Gadget said, and hurried out. She was in such a hurry to get down the hall that she shoulder-checked a massive slate-grayish bot and stumbled from the impact, not bothering to say “sorry” as she kept her frenetic pace back to the bridge. 

 

“Oh, sorry!” they called after her, and Gadget barely registered that they had a very pleasant, soothing voice before she got back to the bridge in time to finish up her shift. She only had an hour left.

 

“How’d it go?” Rodimus asked cheerfully. “Havoc told me you’d been ducking it for a while. Wasn’t so bad, right?”

 

Drift’s eyes seared into her as if he knew exactly why she had been so hesitant -- he took in the peeling paint and the biolights with a new eye and tilted his helm. Gadget felt uncomfortably scrutinized and felt like throwing up. Her finials flattened. “FINE, I GUESS.”

 

“Yeah,” Rodimus agreed, nodding cheerfully. Gadget wanted to bash his head in if he didn’t stop smiling like that, it was infuriating and anxiety-wreaking. “See, not so bad! Let me guess -- don’t like hospitals?”

 

“YOU COULD SAY THAT,” Gadget said flatly, working on her reports and resisting the urge to stim in nervousness. “NOT A HUGE FAN.”

 

“Me either,” Drift murmured, sending a pulse of understanding in his field. “Want to talk about it later?”

 

“NO,” Gadget said sharply, and was a little taken aback (but pleasantly surprised) when there was no adverse reaction. She glanced over at him. “YOU WERE A CON, RIGHT?”

 

Drift’s own finials tilted backwards a bit and his lips twisted, teeth gnawing his lower lip. Rodimus’s frown dropped a little. “Hey-”

 

Gadget held a claw up, not looking at him. “I’M ASKING GENUINELY.”

 

“Yes,” Drift muttered, field drawing in, and Gadget felt some relief pulse through her. She nodded and turned back to her work. Drift seemed to expect some sort of retribution, because he waited a couple of moments before hesitantly asking, “Why?”

 

“I DON’T LIKE AUTOBOTS,” Gadget said without caring who heard it, even though she could feel multitudes of accusing eyes turn to look at her. “THEY HAVE… HANGUPS, ABOUT PEOPLE.”

 

“Decepticons do too,” Drift said, hinting at the little ahem,  _ organic _ problem the Decepticons had had. Gadget shrugged with one shoulder.

 

“I’M NOT AN ORGANIC,” she said, “AUTOBOTS HAD HANGUPS ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE  _ ME. _ EMPURATAS. PEOPLE WORKING OUTSIDE THEIR CASTE. THEY HAD PROBLEMS ABOUT PEOPLE LIKE ME AND WERE ALL WRAPPED UP IN MORAL PURITY CULTURE.”

 

“Deceptico-”

 

“NOT LIKE DECEPTICONS WERE,” Gadget snapped, frustrated. “WITH CONS YOU KNOW WHERE YOU STAND. WITH AUTOBOTS YOU HAVE TO GUESS ABOUT WHO’S ON YOUR SIDE. I HATE IT. THEY’LL TURN ON YOU THE SECOND YOU’RE NOT ‘GOOD’ OR WHATEVER.” She turned back to her console, typing aggressively. “THEY ABANDON YOU IF IT DOESN’T SUIT THEM.”

 

Drift and Rodimus looked at each other, and Gadget got the feeling that she’d just made several enemies out of every Autobot on this bridge -- that is, everyone. But Drift seemed to understand, even if he was hesitant to show it.

 

“Maybe,” he said, Crystal City accent coming through, “you could give these Autobots a chance?”

 

“THE LAST TIME I GAVE A FELLOW AUTOBOT A  _ CHANCE,” _ Gadget spat, pecking a key so harshly it nearly broke, “SHE FRAMED ME AND SENT ME TO SUPERMAX PRISON FOR HALF A MILLION YEARS. I DON’T GIVE OUT FREE CHANCES ANY MORE.”

 

Silence on the bridge. Gadget finished up her report and sent it Rodimus’ way. “I’M DONE WITH MY REPORT. CLOCKING OUT.”

 

“Goodbye, Gadget,” Drift said, “I hope you feel better.”

 

Gadget jerkily nodded his way and glanced at Rodimus, appraising him as well. “I THINK YOU’RE IMMATURE,” she said, “BUT I THINK I LIKE YOU.” And with that, she took her leave, well acquainted with the kind of silence that followed her. She received a comm from Drift and opened it with irritation and trepidation. 

 

**:I hate to pry, but if you dislike Autobots so much, why keep your badge?:**

 

Gadget debated on whether or not to reply. **:I keep it to remind myself what they did to me.:** She quickly deleted it, and then retyped it, sending it. It was true. She didn’t think about it very often, but when she did, all she could think about was how they had used her service and cast her aside at the first opportunity like a broken doll. She stormed away to the bar that had been set up by the small minibot Swerve, deciding to see if she could sit in a dark corner that wasn’t in her room. Her roommate didn’t care for her but never bothered to leave the room (which was fair, it was his room too.) But he was there every moment except his shift, and whenever Gadget occupied the room he slammed drawers and rattled things aggressively, not speaking to her. She barely slept at night for fear he would try and kill her in her sleep. Perhaps that was why she’d been in such a bad mood lately.

 

On her way there, she ran into the person she least expected -- and wanted -- to see. Capacitor of Lower Crestover stared her down, seemingly just as shocked to see her. Her sickly yellowish eyes glimmered with fickle light in the fluorescence of the hallway. “You?” the plane blurted, and Gadget felt frozen to the spot, frozen in numbness and spark-pounding -- spark-pounding something. “Fear” wasn’t a good enough word for it -- there was no word for the kind of dread that produced itself when Gadget stood in front of Capacitor. Even thinking of the plane made a shadow of the same feeling creep up. “Feeling” was almost too small of a vessel for the crushing presence.

 

“What are you doing here?” Capacitor snapped, advancing. Gadget took a step back when Capacitor took a step forwards. “ReDouble didn’t say  _ you’d _ be on this fucking ship.”

 

“HE DIDN’T SAY YOU’D BE ON IT EITHER.”

 

“Oh,” Capacitor said, starting to laugh a very ugly laugh. “Oh, you dumb motherfucker. Are you honestly so stupid-”

 

Gadget had previously been looking for the fastest way to flee from this, but now her body moved almost without her permission as she lunged forwards to spear Capacitor to the wall by her throat, tri-claw squeezing slightly. Capacitor had that look in her eyes again -- that realization that maybe, just maybe, what she had done to Gadget had made the bot dangerous.

 

“DON’T,” Gadget hissed, nearly trembling with rage, “CALL ME STUPID. I AM NOT STUPID.”

 

Capacitor seemed speechless -- she didn’t move, and the part of Gadget that had suddenly taken control of the situation was bored by her prey’s lack of response. It yawned, grumbled, and settled back down to the depths, its brief surfacing only a taste of its might. Gadget remembered the way that Chromepoint’s head had spattered across Thinstreak’s rug, saw it in her mind. Her claws tightened for a moment before relaxing entirely, the empurata stepping away. Capacitor massaged her throat cabling and swallowed hard.

 

“Didn’t need to go to that fucking bar anyways,” she muttered, and beat a hasty retreat. Shaken with the knowledge that her abuser was aboard the same ship, Gadget sighed a trembling vent and made a mental note to evaluate the crew manifesto. How could she have been so careless? Had she left all of her vigilance at the Citadel when she’d taken a vacation from her job? How could she have been so lackadaisical -- so…  _ stupid? _

 

She drooped, trudging into the bar. It was lively, but not overly crowded, and Gadget made her way to the counter and ordered something with spice. Swerve smiled at her and said it’d be up in a moment. In the meantime, Gadget sat down on the stool in front of her and tried to ignore the massive, crunched-up helicopter watching her with one piercing optic. 

 

She had tried not to say a word to anyone if she could help it on this ship. It felt nice. Sure, people said things to her on the bridge, and Havoc had chased her down, but all she had to do was acknowledge it nonverbally and people left her alone. Sometimes she didn’t acknowledge it at all, and just did whatever it was they were asking of her, and then people really left her alone. She unnerved her crewmates, and that was just fine by her. It meant nobody bothered her. She propped an elbow on the counter to stare into the swirling drink Swerve passed her, and contemplated it deeply. Perhaps she could go this whole voyage without talking to anyone. A pipe dream, but it was a nice thought. Her point was proven by the person next to her -- the large empuratee with chicken legs -- poking her in the shoulder with his massive claw. She slowly craned her screen to look at him out of the corner of her optic feed.

 

“Woah,” he mocked, waving his claws slightly in the air with his elbows bent, so the claws were next to his head. Simultaneously, he leaned back, single yellow optic flaring wide. “Someone’s cranky. So, what are you in hell for, huh?”

 

“THIS ISN’T HELL,” Gadget remarked crossly, “TRUST ME. I WOULD KNOW.”

 

“Yeah?” Whirl questioned, leaning forwards as his optic spiralled tight and small, a pinprick of light. “You would? How so? That’s kinda edgy.”

 

“SAME WAY YOU’RE GOING TO KNOW IF YOU DON’T GET OUT OF MY FACE.”

 

“Hey, is that a threat?” The person laughed, still obnoxiously close. A quick scan showed that this was Whirl of Polyhex. Swerve, behind the bar, worried his lip between his teeth. Gadget had a feeling that he knew that while she and Whirl had two completely different energies, one was no less chaotic than the other. “What, are you gonna stare me to death?”

 

Gadget didn’t respond, turning back to her drink to seethe. Maybe he’d get bored and bug off. 

 

No such luck. Whirl tapped her shoulder again. “Hey.” And again. Gadget’s fuel started to boil, as her claw tightened around the glass. It squeaked a little. “Hey.” And again; was he dumb, or just a shithead? Gadget didn’t have the patience for this, not today. Especially not today and especially not now. “Hey.” He went in for another tap, and Gadget surged to action, turning and smashing the glass into the side of his optic as he cried out, starting to laugh.

 

_ “Yeah, baby, that’s what I’m talking about!” _ he howled, as Gadget jumped him and they went down in a startlingly vicious barfight. Swerve was calling Ultra Magnus, so Gadget knew she had to make her victory quick. She snatched a gun from one of the patrons sitting by who hadn’t quite gotten away fast enough, and took aim, pulling the trigger and blasting at Whirl point-blank until the charge in the gun ran out. When it clicked uselessly, she threw it away, screen fuzzing at the rending claws at her plating scrabbling for purchase. She snapped her tri-claw wide open and plunged it into Whirl’s optic, spinning it and delighting in his screeching. He staggered up and away, guns below his cockpit firing, and that was when Ultra Magnus stormed in and subdued the two aggressors, hauling them away for medical treatment and the brig. Gadget was nearly vibrating out of her plating with violent, nervous energy. The medical treatment was a blur, and Gadget was hauled out, down hallways and elevators. Only when the door to the brig opened did Gadget leap into action again, pure fire searing through her lines. Panic gripped her and she started trying to scrabble away, claws grasping at the doorframe as she was pulled and tugged. She lashed out at anyone and everyone, screeching, desperate not to be locked behind bars again. Her efforts were valiant but futile, and soon the cell was locked, as she threw herself at the bars and swiped at anyone in range, shoulder shoved in between bars.

 

“LET ME OUT.” She cried, vents heavy, but it was no use. “LET ME OUT.” Ultra Magnus, having locked her up, and having checked that the cell was secured, left her. She started to pace, violently, harshly, back and forth in a frenzied rhythm. She paced, and paced, and paced, unaware of how much time had passed. She had plenty of time to evaluate the crew manifesto now, and so she did, carefully obsessing over each entry and making mental notes about all of them.

 

Someone opened the door. She kept pacing, back and forth in a swinging pattern when she reached one end of the other, turning sharply on her heel. Soft footsteps descended the stairs, and a small orange bot her size drifted to stand in front of the bars. She ignored him, continuing her agitated pacing.

 

“Gadget?” he questioned, and she was pretty sure it was the shrink. Rung of the Pious Pools -- small, weak. Did evaluations on the Wreckers. Rivals with Froid. She still ignored, pacing, pacing… “Gadget, can you hear me?”

 

She flicked a finial to acknowledge. She almost couldn’t feel her feet, lost in the rhythm and nearly hypnotized by the repetitiveness. In a way, it was soothing, slightly. As soothing as it could be. The shrink hesitated, and kept speaking.

 

“They said you got into a fight,” he said, gently. “Could you possibly tell me what happened?”

 

She shook her head, never stopping. Never confess, that was the trick. Even if they knew. Well, perhaps if they knew for certain, and offered a deal, perhaps confess then. After all, they would already know. Even if they fucked her over, it probably wouldn’t be any worse than if she was stubborn anyways. She was jolted out of her musing by the shrink’s voice again.

 

“Perhaps, I could guess, and you could just nod, if you don’t want to tell me?” She thought about it, heels clicking. After a moment, she flicked her finial again, and the shrink took it as her blessing. “Alright… so… Whirl started the fight.”

 

She slowed for a moment, head tilting up slightly and to the side to think about it. After a moment, she shrugged, hesitantly. Whirl had been doing the pestering, but she had made the first move. After a moment, she resumed her frantic pace and shook her head. “So you started the fight.”

 

She shrugged and nodded. The shrink continued. “Alright, then. You wanted to fight him.” Gadget shook her head. “You wanted to hurt him.” She nodded. “You wanted to hurt him because he was in your space.” She nodded again, listening. He had a nice voice, nice enough for a shrink. In a way, he reminded her of Whirlygig. The thought calmed her a little more, as the shrink continued. “You wanted to hurt him because he was in your space, and things got out of hand.”

 

Gadget thought on that, and shook her head. No, she knew exactly what she’d been doing. She had it under control. She just wanted to make sure Whirl would think twice before getting too close again. The shrink made a small “ah” noise. “So, you wanted to  _ scare _ him.” Gadget nodded emphatically. In the moment she had wanted to hurt, but coming back to her senses she just wanted him to go away. “Alright, alright,” the shrink said, voice soft. “You’re doing well, Gadget. You wanted to scare him off, is that right? Okay. Would you have fought him if he didn’t get in your space?”

 

Gadget shook her head. Of course not. What was his objective? Usually, the line of questioning would be over at this point. But the shrink seemed to want to go on, judging by the tone of his voice. She allowed it, for now. Out of the corner of her optic feed, she saw him take out something to write on, and a stylus. He continued. “Was it about Whirl  _ specifically?” _ Gadget shook her head. Why would it be?

 

“Okay,” the shrink said. “So it was just someone getting too much into your space, and you wanted to scare him off and exacted violence to do so. Would you say that’s a pretty normal course of action for you?” Gadget thought on that, and nodded, shrugging a little as she kept pacing. Her steps had slowed just slightly, but she was still going back and forth like a bat out of hell -- just not one with its ass on fire. The shrink hummed thoughtfully, and nodded. “Okay, Gadget. Is that a normal course of action in that… it’s common for you, or that you don’t see anything wrong with it?”

 

Gadget wembled a claw in the air, signalling indecision. The shrink hummed. Gadget looked him up, looking over her notes again. She had already forgotten them, which was odd for her. His name was Rung of the Pious Pools, and he had been a Senate shrink before the war. He’d administered tests for the Wreckers, fading in and out of history and public eye. He seemed shady. Gadget didn’t like him. Rung kept asking questions, and Gadget realized that this was an evaluation disguised as a check-up. She put up with it. Whatever would get her out of here faster.

 

“So you sort of don’t see anything wrong with it, is that right? You feel justified because he wouldn’t leave you alone?” Gadget nodded, and Rung wrote something down. He asked another question. “Did you feel threatened?”

 

Gadget hesitated, and again wembled a claw. 

 

“You felt threatened, but not for your bodily safety?”

 

Oh, but he was good. Gadget was almost pleased to nod, in an interested, perverse sort of way. Even though the thought of someone knowing so much about her wasn’t pleasant, the voyeuristic joy of watching someone else figure out a puzzle was all-consuming. He kept going. “You felt threatened… being paid attention to, perhaps?”

 

Gadget nodded. 

 

“So you felt threatened because someone was paying attention to you. So it follows that you don’t like interacting with people?”

 

Gadget nodded again, confirming his statement. She  _ hated _ interacting with people. She’d never been the best at it, but now the challenge was monumental. She felt like she had been set adrift, the strings to her anchors severed one by one by particularly dogged scissors. One might even say it scared her. 

 

“So… you don’t really socialize with others, am I correct?”

 

Gadget nodded at first, and then paused in her pacing, lingering in place between steps. She held up a claw, tucking the other one in, and Rung hummed.

 

“There’s an exception?” he guessed, and Gadget nodded, continuing her pacing.

 

“Alright. So you don’t care for interacting with people except for the odd outlier. You avoid socializing with others whenever possible, and you felt threatened that someone was in your space paying direct attention to you. As a result, you wanted to hurt him, so you exacted violence to scare him off -- which to you, is a common reaction because you both don’t see anything wrong with that and tend to react that way frequently. Is that about the size of it, Gadget?”

 

Gadget thought on that, and nodded, shrugging slightly before pacing. Rung nodded, and hesitated. 

 

“How long have you been doing that?” he asked, referencing her pacing. When she didn’t reply, he tried again. “Have you been doing that ever since they put you in here?”

 

Gadget nodded. What was it to him? 

 

“Perhaps you should give yourself a rest,” he said, gently, with something odd in his tone. Gadget couldn’t quite pinpoint it, and it frustrated her, causing her to speed up. “It’s been three hours.” He seemed to get a comm, and turned away slightly after holding up a finger and murmuring “excuse me, I’m sorry.” Gadget resisted the urge to bang on the bars -- what was he talking about? Was it about her?

 

He talked for a moment, mostly back-channeling -- “uh-huh,” “mm-hm,” “oh, yes,” things like that. Gadget quivered with the desire to know just what he was talking about. Rung frowned softly. “No,” he said, “no, I don’t think so. Alright, I’ll be there in a moment.” He turned back around and smiled at Gadget. “I’m sorry, dear, but I’m afraid I’ll have to scarper and leave you alone for a moment.”

 

“WHAT WAS THAT ABOUT?”

 

“Something’s just happening upstairs,” Rung said, reaching up to tweak an antenna absentmindedly. “Nothing to worry about, dear.” And with that, he said goodbye, he inclined his head to her with another pleasant little smile, and took his leave. His tiny feet tapped on the stairs up from the brig.

  
  


\--------------------------------

  
  


Rung went to Ultra Magnus first -- knocked on the door to the giant’s office, and opened the door when he heard the deep voice “come in.” Rung stood in front of Magnus’s desk. The armored giant stood and came around.

 

“Havoc just reported it to me,” he said severely, “We should go to the medibay. I’ll explain on the way.”

 

“Is Gadget in any immediate danger, did Havoc say?” Rung asked as they walked. Magnus shook his head.

 

“She didn’t say,” Magnus said, “all she said was that Gadget’s on Blue Moon, and she seems to have a history for it.”

 

“Oh dear,” Rung said, talking in low tones with Magnus until they got to the medibay. Ratchet saw them and went to get Havoc, crankily calling out for her as he excused himself to the back. Havoc came out to greet them and steered them over to her desk.

 

“I see you got my comm,” Havoc said, diving right into it. “Gadget was in a detox program towards the end of her time in Garrus-10. Have you both read her file?”

 

“I’ve got the broad strokes,” Rung said, at the same time that Magnus affirmed, _ “extensively.” _

 

“Good,” Havoc said firmly. “So you both know that she was responding positively to the treatment she was on. Why she went off of it, I don’t know -- but her situation has put her in the perfect storm for both high relapse rates and high recidivism rates. She’s at a big disadvantage here. I don’t have to tell you both that Garris-10 holds one of the highest recidivism rates for the entire Garrus system and Blue Moon jubilance holds one of the highest relapse rates out of the jubilance family, barring Black Ore and White Flower. Gadget’s being hit from all sides by this.”

 

“Focus, Doctor,” Magnus said. Havoc pointed at him.

 

“Shut up,” she said, “this is important. Anyways, the rate of fuel dyeing and the micelles are actually pretty deceptive. Actual tests showed that she hasn’t been consistently on the drug for more than a few months -- if that. I’d reckon it’s just hangover remnants shaken loose from the inside of her lines.”

 

“How do you mean that?” Ultra Magnus questioned -- so Havoc went more in-depth.

 

“Just judging by the discoloration and the micelles? I’d put her usage clock squarely around a good few thousand years. If I hadn’t tested it, I’d be thinking she hadn’t stopped using at all. But I tested the actual amount of active drug in her fuel and it’s surprisingly little, compared to what she’d been on. Which matches with how her nanites are and how her biolights are behaving -- particularly her biolights. Anyways, I’d recommend we start her back on the treatment plan she’d been on as soon as possible. How long is she in the brig for?”

 

“The rulebook states that acts of violence and fighting mandate a stay of one to two weeks,” Magnus said firmly.

 

“Get her out,” Havoc said, “Make an exception. She needs to get on this plan as soon as possible and we don’t know if she has any of the drug with her. Going on withdrawals could really hurt her -- she’s at risk for seizure with how much drug she’d been previously using.”

 

“Understood,” Magnus said. Normally, he would have objected, but this was a health-related exemption. This was acceptable.

 

“I assume she’ll also become my patient?” Rung cut in. He’d been largely quiet for this. Havoc nodded. In the background, Ratchet was talking with another doctor who’d joined them from the start, Caduceus of Ysoltü. 

 

“We can set that up later,” she said, “When we start talking about this plan with her. I don’t know why she stopped, but the fallout support on Cybertron was shit, so I’m not surprised she relapsed.”

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Gadget’s next hour or two was a blur. She was taken out of the brig and to the medibay, where Havoc sat her down with the shrink and herself to explain that tests had showed that she was back on Blue Moon. So they were going to try to put her back on the plan she’d been on, and was that alright? The orange guy -- Rung -- was going to take over as her psychiatrist as Whirlygig wasn’t able to be contacted with how their ship currently was. Gadget just agreed to it all, dazed and exhausted and sore from pacing so much and how much she had been in panic mode. They let her go and she tottered her way back to her room, relieved to see that her roommate was gone for right now. She fell into a deep, deep sleep.

 

It wasn’t meant to last. She woke up halfway through the night with screaming vents and muscle cabling twitching, vents almost frozen shut. She couldn’t move -- couldn’t move, it felt like there was something sitting on her chest and weighing her spark down until it burst. She croaked weakly, trying to flag down her roommate for help, but her body wouldn’t listen to her. Her vision came into focus and she nearly passed out again -- looming above her was a creature with beady, dark eyes and so many grinning pointy teeth, breath hot and damp. The longer Gadget looked, the more she realized that it wasn’t that the creature’s eyes were beady and dark -- they were empty, there were no eyes at all. Just endless sockets, tunneling away far past the thing’s brain and into unknown wormholes to galaxies unexplored. 

 

Gadget almost screamed, would have if she could, and tried to move, tried to get her claws working so she could get Kaon by the throat and wring his ugly head from his stupid body, but she couldn’t do anything. She must have stayed like that for hours, until finally her body surged to action, an arm flopping uselessly before a leg kicked as well and a whimper escaped her vocalizer. Her fans burst to action, making her roommate toss and grumble in his sleep, and finally the horrible apparition above her vanished, wavering away as the pressure on her chest released. She wheezed, surging bolt upright, and, trembling, looked around. A part of her brain knew that it wasn’t really Kaon -- but most of her was consumed with irrational panic, and her searching became more pointed. How had he known she was here, and how had he known to project that little carnival of terrors? There had to be a device somewhere.

 

She got up, shaking out her blankets and beating out her pillows, dropping them when nothing presented itself. Then she combed over her bed, and under it. The floor around it, which led to her roommate’s bed. She searched that very carefully so as not to wake her roommate and scurried over to the desk where her computer sat. A strip of opaque tape covered her computer’s camera, so it couldn’t be that. She checked her keyboard, everything. Under the desk. The only thing left… was the walls. Gadget walked back over to her bed and past it, intently staring into the wall. Perhaps it was some kind of X-ray device? 

 

She looked back to her roommate. Still asleep. So she looked back to the wall and scanned it. Nothing showed up, but that didn’t mean that there couldn’t be anything. She felt watched, looked at, exposed, and glanced behind her again. Her plating crawled with the feeling and crawled even more when nothing was there. The empurata dug her claws into the wall and pulled a sheet back by its seam, trying to keep it quiet. Her arm shook with the effort and finally she opened up a hole, reaching in to comb through wiring to see if anything had been attached. Nothing. 

 

She opened up more holes, nearly hypnotized, until she heard shuffling behind her. Her helm snapped around to meet gazes with her roommate, who had since seen what she was doing upon waking up and was now looking at her with a sick sense of horror.

 

“What the fuck are you doing?” He spat, eyes narrowing. Gadget’s finials flattened.

 

“CAMERAS,” she said, weakly. “I THINK THERE’S… CAMERAS.” As soon as she said it, she was acutely aware of how stupid -- of how  _ crazy _ it sounded. Her roommate cried out in disgust and got up, sweeping the blanket off of himself.

 

“Oh my god,” he said, “they were right about you. You’re fucking nuts. I can’t live like this any more. I’m moving out.” And with that, he stormed out, the door closing behind him. Elbow deep in ship wiring, Gadget’s finials drooped. Slowly, she turned back to the wiring and began searching again, though her search was lackluster now and had lost its fire. Eventually, she gave up even though she could still feel eyes searing into her and went back to bed, throwing the blanket back over herself and trying to avoid falling back asleep. She didn’t manage it. But she woke up two hours later screeching from a nightmare and decided to get up for the day, going over to her computer to do some coding to calm down. She logged on and stopped -- something was off. Something was wrong with one of her files. It was moved slightly. Had someone been on her computer? She checked the timestamps for the files opening and her spark dropped to her feet. She hadn’t opened it in a while -- certainly not yesterday. What could anyone want with her copy of the crew manifesto, the one on her computer?

 

She decided to try and find out. Working up a list of the crew she’d interacted with, she set up people to go talk to and evaluate. She’d start with people she’d met and widen the circle from there. And who better to start with than the person she was scheduled to see today -- her psychiatrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. Yes, I(he/him) am working on these reports(routine) for Virtue(purity, grace), my boss(positive, acquaintance)  
>  \- Yes, I'm working on these routine reports for Virtue of Grace and Purity, my boss.
> 
> 2\. Thank you (he/him)
> 
> 3\. Ah, Delegate Knock Out(stunning)! How lovely to see you!  
>  \- Ah, the stunning Delegate Knock Out! How lovely to see you!
> 
> 4\. And you... Decepticon Neocybex? My, my... is Optimus Prime on board with that? And, what's your name?
> 
> 6\. West (direction of the sunset) of Statsin. I(he/him) am the ambassador for Earth, with my colleague Johnson of Maine."
> 
> 7\. Ah, not quite.
> 
> 8\. How unfortunate.
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------
> 
>  
> 
> so, what do you all think so far? sorry it's a little late, i was trying to enjoy my weekend lol


	4. Meet-Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flux and Gadget meet and there's just something between them from the start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **possible trigger warnings: none that i can think of but if you need anything tagged please let me know!**

_ Subject: Rung of the Pious Pools _

_ Threat Level: Extremely High _

_ Probability of Guilt: Undergoing Evaluation _

  
  


“Gadget, right? Please, come in,” Rung greeted her at the door to his office, stepping aside to let her in. “How has your day been?”

 

Why would he want to know? It was probably a ruse. Gadget shrugged noncommittally and stepped inside, seating herself on the patient berth and letting her legs hang off the side, crossing them at the knees. The berth was just warm enough to be comfortable, but not warm enough to feel like someone else had just been sitting there. However, the reason that Gadget was here made her plating crawl -- both of them. Now that they had found out she was on Blue Moon, high command wouldn’t just leave well enough alone and had thoroughly begun pestering her. She knew it was better for her to be sober -- again, she thought of Haven -- but being sober was so harsh and clear. There was nothing muting her emotions, nothing dampening her anxiety. “YOU KNOW. JUST GOT OFF SHIFT. I LIKE THE LAB HERE. BRAINSTORM CLEARED A SPACE FOR ME TO USE.”

 

“How kind of him! It is a nice one, isn’t it,” Rung agreed pleasantly, glasses glinting in the light, and Gadget felt her spark tighten. She kept her field very close, and Rung sat down in the chair next to the patient berth. “Well, since this is your first session, we’ll just chat a little, how about that? Get to know each other. Would you like something to drink? I have candy, as well, if you’d like any.”

 

Gadget accepted the offer of candy, on the condition that it was individually prepackaged. Rung didn’t say anything, but Gadget immediately regretted stipulating that. She knew that if she hadn’t specified, she wouldn’t have touched the candy given to her for fear that it was poisoned, but to specify the need for prepackaging clued Rung in to her suspicions. If she was lucky, she could be done with having to go to therapy relatively quickly. And if Rung caught on to the fact that she was using this appointment as an interview of her own, she’d surely be called back for even more appointments than previously scheduled.

 

Beside her, on the wall that the berth was hooked to, dozens of model ships sat, pristine on their shelves. They were all hand-crafted models, apparently, judging from the intricacy. It was almost impressive. Good craftsmanship didn’t excuse mnemosurgery, however, and Gadget eyed Rung sketchily as he dug around in the candy drawer for something prepackaged. Judging by the rustling, he was having a hard time finding it. His face lit up all of a sudden, a happy smile showing teeth directed at the contents of his drawer. “Ah! Here it is. Rust stick. Er, you don’t have to sit on the berth if you’re not comfortable with that! You can take a chair up here, if you’d like.”

 

Gadget didn’t want to seem overly suspicious, so she hopped down, striding over and subtly examining the chairs. Rung scribbled something down on a datapad, and Gadget tried not to think about it too much as she stripped the wrapping off of the rust stick and slid back her intake panel. The packaging crinkled noisily, seemingly hell-bent on adding to the awkward, hesitant atmosphere. Bit by bit, she fed the rust stick into the hole she had for an intake, letting the tiny grippers inside dismantle it and carry it down her intake. Eating solid foods wasn’t her favorite, especially since she couldn’t even taste anymore (sometimes she imagined. Sometimes she didn't bother), but it was a nice gesture to uphold. “THANKS.”

 

They talked inanities for the rest of Gadget’s session, Rung clearly trying to find what made her most comfortable. He occasionally wrote things in his notebook, and Gadget tensed. Rung seemed to pick up on it, looking up from the datapad. “Hm? Something the matter, Gadget?”

 

“WHAT DID YOU JUST JOT DOWN?” Gadget tried not to wince at how accusatory that sounded. She just hoped that the monotone drone of her voice would cover it up to someone who wasn’t familiar with her. Rung smiled soothingly, holding up the datapad for her to see. 

 

It vanished before she could read it all, but he further reassured, “it’s just some notes, Gadget. I take them so I can remember better, so that these sessions are more helpful to you.”

 

Little did he know, Gadget wasn’t here for therapy. She needed to find who had been on her damned computer, and fast, and she needed to be  _ left alone _ . That was all she wanted. It wasn’t too much to ask, she thought.

  
  


_ Subject: Rung of the Pious Pools _

_ Threat Level: Extremely High _

_ Probability of Guilt: Further Investigation Needed  _

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


_ Subject: Capacitor of Lower Crestover _

_ Threat Level: High _

_ Probability of Guilt: Undergoing Evaluation _

  
  


Gadget sat in the back of Swerve’s, nursing a drink that wouldn’t get her drunk, as she watched Capacitor slam shots back at the counter. Ratchet was next to her, chatting intensely with Swerve about something. Gadget couldn’t hear much, but she did catch something about “Delphi” amongst the gentle chatter of slightly-to-very inebriated mecha. Skids of Nova Crona was across the bar, chatting with some friends. He had one of the service droids under his arm for some indiscernible reason, the best one being that he was using his grappling hook under the influence. Gadget liked Skids, but she didn’t trust him.

 

It didn’t matter much, she supposed. Capacitor was the threat on hand at the moment. Rung’s innocence had yet to be proven. He had reason to go through her things -- he was her psychiatrist, technically a member of medical command. Gadget studied the brown plane and mused over her drink. Usually, Gadget would wholly investigate a subject. But she had already investigated Capacitor, and they had… history. It was all a matter of flushing out the truth, and, with Capacitor, that usually meant the hamfisted way. She responded best to displays of force and bravado. It was the only thing that got through her thick head.

 

Gadget slurped the last of her drink through her proboscis, the bottom third of her visor sliding back over her intake. The drink was warm, but the glass was cool between the two pincers of her right claw. At first, holding glasses and cups had been hard. By now, Gadget had dexterity with pincers down to an art. She brought the glass up to the counter to return it, eavesdropping on Swerve and Ratchet in the process.

 

“Delphi’s pretty close, isn’t it? Thanks, Gadget, by the way,” Swerve asked, tossing a smile her way and taking the glass before looking questioningly at Ratchet. It seemed he’d forgotten all about her chaos with Whirl, which had happened only last week. A bit of spilled engex and the crystalline pieces of a very small broken glass lay on the counter. The medic nodded, face set in its eternal grouchy sulk, though it was a bit more contemplative now. Swerve was putting Gadget’s glass down and getting things to clean up the mess.

 

“Indeed. I think it’s time to make a house call.”

 

Gadget ignored them after that, crossing behind Ratchet to tap Capacitor’s shoulder. She was a couple of seats away. The plane’s head turned, eyes half-lidded from the engex. “What,” she slurred, one eyebrow going up. “You want somethin’, Faceless?”

 

Ratchet snuck a glare at Capacitor, mouth twisting down at the corners, but he didn’t say anything. Life in the bar carried on as normal, Skids laughing about something in the background.

 

Gadget tilted her helm, ”I’LL IGNORE THAT IF YOU TELL ME THE TRUTH. WERE YOU ON MY COMPUTER A FEW DAYS AGO?”

 

Capacitor squinted back, “The fuck are you talking about? Can you even type with those dumbass claws?”

 

Gadget fuzzed static on her screen, pincers clicking. “CAPACITOR, I WOULD THINK TWICE BEFORE PISSING ME OFF. REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST TIME?”

 

Capacitor gulped a little, paying a little more attention. Her eyebrows went up, and she shook her head, burping a bit from the engex. It was an ugly sound. “Yeah, well. No, I haven’t touched your computer. I dunno where your room even  _ is _ .” Gadget’s head tilted the other way, and Capacitor snorted in disgust. “Will you stop doing that? It’s creepy.”

 

“TELL ME THE TRUTH, MAYBE. IT FITS RIGHT UP YOUR ALLEY TO GO THROUGH MY THINGS.”

 

“I haven’t been on your god damned precious computer! It was probably you and you forgot!” Capacitor yelled, and Gadget studied her.

 

“SO YOU HAVEN’T BEEN THROUGH MY THINGS. THE TIMESTAMPS ON MY FILES WERE DIFFERENT, AND MATCH WITH YOUR OFF SHIFT.”

 

Capacitor growled as she downed her drink, paid her tab, and started to leave. “The fuck is a timestamp?”

  
  


_ Subject: Capacitor of Lower Crestover _

_ Threat Level: High _

_ Probability of Guilt: too stupid to use a computer _

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


Socketchip ran down the hall at lightning speed, jumping and teetering out of people’s way with a beaming smile and an apology. He had things to do and mecha to see! 

 

He barrelled into the medbay, and threw his arms wide, wobbling back and forth from the sudden stop. In fact, his nose almost brushed the floor before he swung backwards like a pendulum, gyroscopics fighting to achieve equilibrium. Havoc wasn’t in the front of the medbay, but he could hear somebody rooting and banging around in the back. So he sucked in a vent and howled, “ _ Wreckers don’t call for  _ **_backup!_ ** ”

 

“ _ They call for  _ **_cleanup!_ ** ” an equally excited voice greeted him from storage, and Socketchip was really kind of glad that Ratchet was gone and Caduceus was off-shift. They were both great bots and really very nice, but poor Caduceus would have been scared out of his plating and Ratchet might’ve thrown a wrench! 

 

Havoc came storming out of storage, shaking a wrench of her own. Her faceplates were configured into a very tight sort of smile, the kind of smile that someone makes when they very much want to be mad at their friend but they just can’t manage it. “Damn you, Socketchip! I can’t believe you got me to repeat that! Ratchet isn’t gone for five hours and already everybody’s causing trouble!”

 

Socketchip beamed brightly and ran in place excitedly for a moment. Decepticon this, deserter that -- it was always good to see an old Wrecker friend! 

 

“Maybe so,” he cackled, leaning over to stick his tongue out at her. “But I have an appointment with  _ one _ Havoc of Helex?” 

 

“Fuck dude, you sure do,” Havoc mumbled, checking her files despite already knowing he had an appointment. “Go ahead and get on a berth for me, would you? How’ve you been, you little scraplet?”

 

“I’ve been real good,” Socketchip said, beaming as he climbed up onto the specified berth. “I’ve got Flux as a roommate, fun fact. Which was a little weird at first, but hey, she’s really nice. And a good roommate, honestly. Very considerate.”

 

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” Havoc said, scanning him. “Nice to hear you’re getting along.”

 

“What about you?”

 

“I don’t have a roommate, kid.”

 

“Aw, that seems lonely.”

 

“I prefer it that way,” Havoc said, picking up Socketchip’s cone-shaped arm by the forearm. She traced the plating to his small elbow joint, where a tiny, thin, but strong upper arm connected to his shoulder socket. Havoc had to look under the flare-out of his forearm, but his elbow joint was fine. Then it was checking his fingers. Socketchip’s frame required a little extra care due to its very odd setup, but he was a champ about it. He was very tiny -- only about nine feet tall. His hands ended in a rounded sort of cone bottom, with four fingers and one thumb sprouting out from holes in it like fingerless gloves. He flexed his fingers as Havoc looked them over. He started giggling. 

 

“Shut up,” Havoc said gruffly, her field pulsing amusement. Socketchip made fun of her, sticking his tongue out.

 

“I’m gonna take pliers to that thing if you don’t get it back in your mouth,” Havoc said, only joking. She checked over his chest area, and his other arm, and then his hip joints. Socketchip was also unusual in the sense that he had no knees whatsoever -- it was hip joint and then the same flared cone as his forearm all the way down to rounded off stub pedes. The only thing that helped him keep his balance in lieu of a frontpede was his gyroscopic outlier ability. It also meant he walked and ran with a waddle, but he didn’t think much of it. “Lookin’ good, kid.”

 

“Hey,” Socketchip said, “you and I should hang out soon, huh?”

 

“Yeah, kid,” Havoc said, mostly just agreeing without thinking about it. “Missed you, little buddy.”

 

“You too!” the minibot said, field brimming with delight. “It’s been so long, you know. And hey, I still have Wreck n’ Rule, so we should go shooting sometime!”

  
  


\----------------------------

  
  


Flux returned to her habsuite from her shift on the bridge to find her door marred with paint, slogans of all kinds emblazoned across her door. Just on sight she could identify “CON SCUM” and “KILLER”. She sidled close to the door, resting fingertips lightly against angry paint, and ex-vented, forcing herself to stand there and read the rest of them -- all of them. This had been happening ever since the more angry crowd had learned she was officially a member of the crew and it wasn’t some kind of elaborate prank that Magnus had allowed to go on for far too long. She hadn’t reported it once. All she did, all she ever did, was simply sigh, go inside and fetch cleaning supplies, and spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning off her door. If Socketchip was there, he helped her. The two would scrub in grim silence, going back into their habsuite to talk in soft voices about it. 

 

Socketchip had a check-up today, if Flux remembered right, so it was just going to be her. Brushing gentle fingers again over “WE ARE BEING DECEIVED” and glancing once more at “GENOCIDAL SOCIOPATH” she ex-vented heavily through her nose and went inside, searching for the supplies. Some of the paint had still been tacky when she’d first read all the phrases, so at least it’d be a little easier to scrub away. She dunked her sponge in the soapy water and got to scrubbing, humming softly to herself -- an old Lower Crestover work shanty. Traditionally, it would be sung by lots of people alternating, but there was only one of her. It did make the work go a little easier, though. Flux almost found herself enjoying it every so often, and then her eyes would read one of the phrases and she would falter, mood dampened again. She quickly scrubbed away the rest of the paint from the door and stood back, going to dump out the bucket in her washracks and leave the sponge and bucket to dry. After that, she headed off to Swerve’s, hoping for a nice drink. Swerve passed her her usual when she got there, and she looked around for a table, noticing with chagrin that her usual spot secluded in the back was already taken. She shrugged and walked over. The slim bot with a screen for a face looked up at her.

 

“YEAH?”

 

“Er, I hate to bother, but could I sit here? You don’t have to get up or anything, I just don’t like…” Flux gestured over her shoulder. “You know, lots of crowds.”

 

The bot nodded slowly and Flux sat, across the table from her. They drank in silence for a few moments. Flux cleared her throat. “So, um, what’s your name?”

 

“GADGET,” the bot said, her screen flashing. Flux smiled into her drink, feeling her cheeks heat.

 

“Pretty name,” she complimented, swirling her creamed engex in her glass. “Mine’s uh, mine’s Flux, as if it wasn’t obvious.” She forced a laugh -- Gadget didn’t take the bait. Discomfort built in her spark until Gadget spoke again, looking away.

 

“I GUESS. WHY’D YOU COME?”

 

“Oh, long story,” Flux said, “And a Decepticon Reintegration Act. But enough about all that -- how do you like it on the ship?”

 

“HOW DO I LIKE IT?”

 

“Yeah,” Flux said, smile turning a little more wry. “Having fun yet? What with all the sparkeaters and explosions and all that. Great fun, hm?”

 

Gadget huffed out a vent and rolled her helm as if rolling her eyes. “UGH. YOU COULD SAY THAT. IF YOU WANTED TO BE WRONG.”

 

Flux giggled into her drink, hand covering her mouth, and tried not to let her cheeks flush too much. “True! So um, I know this is small talk, but uh, favorite color.”

 

Gadget’s helm jerked back a little as if she were taken aback. “NOBODY ASKS ME THOSE KINDS OF QUESTIONS.”

 

“Well,” Flux said, beaming as she shyly gestured, “I guess I am now!”

 

“UM. AQUA IS MY MOST FAVORITE. BUT…” she seemed to trail off, lost in thought. “I LIKE ORANGE, TOO.”

 

“I used to have a courtmate who loved orange,” Flux said, nodding sagely as she propped her chin in her palm. The bar chattered warmly behind them. “Yep, she loved it.”

 

“WHAT’S… YOURS?”

 

“Oh! Um… probably pastel pink. It’s very light and soothing. And purple, obviously,” Flux laughed, though it was a little more forced. “Can’t help it if I’ve still got a little faction pride. They’ll pry it from my cold gray hands, if I’m being honest -- I became a Decepticon to help people and that’s what I’m still one for.” She shook her helm. That was too much, too in depth. Over-sharing. “But that’s not what we’re talking about. So, um… favorite animal, go.”

 

“EASY,” Gadget said, “TURBOFOX.”

 

“Aw, really? I would have put you more as a petrorabbit kind of person.”

 

“WHY?”

 

“I dunno,” Flux said, shrugging. “You look like the kind of person that knows how to pet one without scaring it.”

 

“WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?” Gadget’s helm tilted and oh, she was so cute! Flux smiled and ducked her helm, cheeks burning.

 

“I don’t know,” she said, “you just look like you’d be tender.” Gadget let out a little beep. Seemingly, of surprise. Flux glanced up, suddenly nervous. “I’m not some kind of stamp licker,” she rushed to reassure, “I’m just saying that you’ve got this way you carry yourself. It’s very put together and calm.”

 

“... THANK YOU,” Gadget said, looking away. Her finials rattled slightly, and her vents flared. “NO ONE’S EVER SAID ANYTHING LIKE THAT TO ME.”

 

“First for everything,” Flux said, cheeks about as hot as her spark. The two talked for what felt like hours, until Flux excused herself to go back to her room and read a little. Gadget bade her a tentative goodbye, waving a hesitant claw slightly before dropping it.

  
  
  
  


\-------------------

  
  
  
  


_ Subject: Flux of Lower Crestover _

_ Threat Level: extremely low _

_ Probability of Guilt: Undergoing Evaluation Ahead Of Schedule :) _

  
  


Gadget walked the halls, going over data in her processor. She’d already analyzed Perceptor, and found him an unlikely perpetrator of hacking her computer. Brainstorm, perhaps, but after closer investigation she’d found him innocent as well. While he was the type that would hack her computer for fun, probably, he also wasn’t interested in anything to do with her things. Her science? Absolutely! Her personal life?  _ Snooze _ .

 

So, that was everybody in the science division ticked off, and Gadget was in the process of deciding who would undergo an evaluation next-

 

She stopped, one heeled foot hovering just before it hit the floor. In front of her, hard at work scrubbing her door, was Flux. A flurry of emotions hit her, and she felt a bit lost trying to deal with them all at once. Just trying to identify them all was a hassle -- surprise, anxiety at the unexpected meeting, and something warm and fluttery that she didn’t even want to go  _ near _ . She and Flux had talked in Swerve’s for precisely one hour, six minutes, and ten seconds. Flux had been polite, talkative, funny, and… pleasant. Flux had been pleasant. So pleasant, in fact, that Gadget genuinely hadn’t minded talking to her, and in fact kind of enjoyed it a little.

 

The empurata didn’t want to think about that. So she didn’t -- instead, she just approached Flux slowly, watching her scrub the door with a wet, soapy sponge clenched in both hands, arms working to harshly strip the paint. The joints moved in a way that wasn’t smooth -- wasn’t fluid, like Ratchet’s hands or Drift’s walk -- but they heaved with raw power, restrained and just under the surface, held in check by grace and decorum. They clicked and groaned with exertion. Finally, Gadget tore her visor’s optic feedback from the plane’s arms and up her shoulder turbines, and her clavicle, and her throat, and her face…

 

Flux’s jaw was set, occasionally rolling under the thin layer of delicate metal on her face, and it was very defined. Her nose stood out against her face as well, her thick eyebrows drawn down in concentration as the twin supernovas of her optics seared what little of the paint was left away. Her lips were pursed, puffy and a shade or two darker than the light gray of her faceplate. Her lower lip was just slightly fuller than her upper one -- or was it the other way around? Gadget couldn’t quite tell...

 

The empurata fuzzed static from her vocalizer the first time she tried to say anything, and Flux stopped, hands with the sponge falling to rest on her knees, from where she was sitting on her heels. Her gray faceplates broke into a big smile, and Gadget resisted the urge to run very quickly away, lock herself in a storage closet, and remember how to unfreeze her vents.

 

“Hi, Gadget!” Flux greeted, cheerfully.  _ I’ve only spoken to once, you should not be smiling this much _ , Gadget thought aggressively, trying again to say something,  _ anything _ . 

 

“I -- ER. I. CAN. CAN I HELP YOU WITH -- CLEANING? THE DOOR?” She needed to get her processor checked. Clearly something was wrong with her language center. After all, she hadn’t had a -- a --

 

Ugh. She couldn’t even think the word. But she hadn’t had one since when she first got to Tebba.

 

Flux’s expression fell a little bit. “Oh, yeah, this,” she laughed, a little forced. Gadget watched her, as her eyes closed just a little bit around the edges. 

 

“If, y’know, if you wanna,” Flux mumbled, a hand coming up to rest at the back of her neck. She did that when she was embarrassed, apparently. Flux kept speaking, and the smell of soap made the air bittersweet, almost floral. “They’re not very nice messages, so… you don’t have to. I cleaned them off before we met in Swerve’s, and I came back here to read a book and they were all over my door agai-”

 

Gadget cut her off by kneeling next to her and extending a claw for a sponge. The cargo plane stared at it, blinking, and for a second, Gadget was chillingly afraid that it was  _ because _ of the claw -- because of the connotations attached to such an appendage -- and then Flux said, tentatively, “Are you sure? I don’t want to trouble you.”

 

It was Gadget’s turn to blink -- well, metaphorically at least. “UH. I’M NOT. DOING ANYTHING. IMPORTANT. SO. I’M HAPPY TO HELP.”

 

Flux smiled, and reached into the soapy bucket, handing Gadget a dripping, smaller sponge. “Alright, let’s get cracking then. How’s your day been? Obviously before we talked earlier, haha.”

 

They talked as they worked, and Gadget found herself enjoying the conversation despite the fact that they hadn’t gotten to the topic she really needed to broach. So, in an attempt to keep it on track. Gadget fuzzed static in a poor imitation of clearing her intake, and changed the subject. “SO… UH, SORRY TO CHANGE THE SUBJECT, BUT…”

 

“Oh, no, be my guest!”

 

“WHAT’S YOUR OPINION ON COMPUTERS?”

 

Flux tilted her head quizzically, and Gadget struggled against the feeling of “oh, that’s adorable” at the way Flux’s tall, cylindrical audials tilted with her helm. 

 

“How’s that?” the Decepticon answered, and Gadget fuzzed static on her visor. 

 

“YOU KNOW. COMPUTERS. ANY INTEREST? IT’S JUST -- I AM, KIND OF…”

 

“Oh! Well, unfortunately, computers aren’t my thing,” Flux laughed sheepishly, and shrugged. The paint was nearly all gone from the door, and Gadget was a little nervous to find herself disappointed about that. It wasn’t because she wanted Flux to see all of those messages -- it was just…

 

… well, after all the paint was gone, what pretense would she have to stick around? Flux was still speaking; Gadget immediately tuned in to hear it, shocked and dismayed at her own slip of attention. After all, she was here for this information.

 

“... and really, I’m more of a books fan, honestly. It’s not as if I don’t like computers,  I’m just… a bit more of a reader. A book reader. Not that you can’t read on computers. You know. So what about you? You said you were interested in computers?”

 

Gadget tilted her helm, and gave up trying to scrub a very stubborn piece of purple paint. Instead, she resorted to scratching at it with her right claw, one pincer angled down to give her some room to move the one scratching. Behind it, she noticed, the door was dull, as if repeated and frequent scrubbings had dissolved the door’s outer gleam.  _ Scritch-scritch _ . “YEAH. IT’S KIND OF MY THING.”  _ Scritch-scritch _ . “WHAT, YOU HAVEN’T READ MY FILE?”  _ Scritch-scritch _ . 

 

“No? It really didn’t cross my mind. So, your thing? You said computers were your thing.”

 

“OH. YEAH.” 

 

_ Scritch-scritch _ .

 

“I TAUGHT MYSELF CODING WHEN I WAS STILL IN MANUAL CLASS.”

 

_ Scritch-scritch _ .

 

“I’VE BEEN DOING IT EVER SINCE. I LOVE IT. COMPUTERS ARE… MORE OF MY LIFE THAN THEY SHOULD BE.”

 

_ Scritch-scritch _ .

 

The paint had long come off, but Gadget was staring at her claw as it moved, scraping the door delicately. Beside her, Flux hummed with sympathy, and extended a hand. It slowly moved to just barely hover over Gadget’s right forearm, and the empuratee watched it, apprehension blooming in her tanks. 

 

Why didn’t it just touch her already? The waiting was the worst part. She looked up at Flux, flashing a question mark over her visor’s screen, and Flux smiled, hesitantly. “Is that alright?”

 

The question mark turned to an exclamation mark, and Gadget beeped a little in surprise. Flux’s hand retracted just a breath, the fingers twitching away, and Gadget was again nervous to find herself disappointed. Feeling so many things at once was simply exhausting. 

 

“I didn’t want to touch you without your okay. People like me are a bit of an exception, but Decepticons aren’t the touchiest. Far less so than Autobots, I’ve heard. So… is it alright if I touch your arm?”

 

Gadget felt something else bloom, and at first she couldn’t identify it. It was  _ warm _ , and it wasn’t something that made her spark pound. It was  _ slow _ , and it was  _ soft _ , and it was like what she felt for Hock and Chug and Flight and Keeper when they all did something particularly distracted, except  _ so different it was alien _ … “YEAH. GO AHEAD.”

 

Flux’s teeth showed in her next bright smile, and she ducked her helm for a moment, clearing her throat. She glanced back up at Gadget, and her servo touched down on Gadget’s forearm like the cargo plane was handling the most sensitive, delicate, intricate piece of machinery. Her thumb rubbed a bit, habitually, and she asked again, “And this is alright?”

 

Gadget found herself nodding, and now her spark did pick up its pace. There was the background hum of her plating crawling with disgust at touch, but the visored bot found herself wanting the hand to stay -- that thumb to keep rubbing, ever so gently. Because while it was no secret that Gadget of Carthex had a  _ massive _ case of  _ touch aversion _ \-- most of the feeling clogging her spark and exhausting her processor was… good. The hand on her arm felt… nice. 

 

“Thank you, by the way,” Flux murmured, and Gadget was very glad that her visor enabled her to look at both Flux’s eyes and her lips. She promptly regretted even thinking that, and wondered, very briefly, if she could ask Chromedome to delete it. Of course, it was instantly cast from her head, and she resisted the urge to shudder. 

 

Flux blinked, and the yellow glow from her optics distracted Gadget from the chilling line of thought. “Thank you, I mean. For doing this. Helping me clean off my door. It… really did need to be cleaned. I mean, obviously. I mean, I can’t just go around having writing on my door all the time and --” she sighed. “What I mean is thank you.”

 

Gadget nodded jerkily, trilling softly as she looked away, flustered. Flux seemed to look away as well, and then she got up. Gadget jumped. The hand left her arm. “So,” Flux said, “um, the door’s all cleaned, if you want to-?”

 

“I’LL STICK AROUND FOR A COUPLE OF MINUTES,” Gadget said without thinking about it, “I DON’T REALLY HAVE ANYWHERE TO BE.”

  
  


_ Subject: Flux of Lower Crestover _

_ Threat Level: friend _

_ Probability of Guilt: Effectively Ruled Out… But I Should Probably Investigate More, Just To Be Sure _

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


West sighed, fiddling with a button on his cuff as he did paperwork in his office late. Johnson had already gone home. There had been lots of disquiet lately -- Virtue had been quite stressed about it. While the I/D chips in Decepticons had been turned off, there were still rumblings. It hadn’t been helped by the fact that Starscream had been deemed “the Chosen One” and had weaseled his way into government just that morning. West looked up as the wall across from him -- which was actually a door for someone of the mechanical variety -- opened to reveal Virtue.

 

“Come with me,” he said urgently, leaving no room for argument. West got up.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked, coming around his desk to follow Virtue. The bot walked nearly too quickly for him to keep up without jogging, so he said, “Hey, I can’t walk that fast. Give me a lift.”

 

Virtue stopped to put West in his palm and then stood up to keep going, all business. West asked again, “what’s going on?”

 

“You’re being moved to a secure area,” he said, “There are riots. Megatron is in custody.”

 

_ “Megatron?” _ West said, eyes widening. “Thought he was dead.”

 

“He has this  _ infuriating _ penchant for  _ not _ being so,” Virtue said through gritted teeth, “and it has caused me much sparkburn throughout the years. I’m taking you to a security bunker. The spacebridge has been shut down to avoid explosion in the case of us being overwhelmed.”

 

“Is that a serious risk?” West asked urgently, eyebrows drawing down. Virtue tapped his way down a flight of stairs as the air darkened around them, the light dimming the further down they went.

 

“Not currently,” Virtue said, “But I didn’t get Starscream through four million years of war by being unprepared. You’re a good ambassador -- I’d hate for you to get squished.”

 

West snorted a laugh despite the situation. “Am I going to be by myself?”

 

“I can get someone to stay with you,” Virtue said, opening the door and lowering West down, tipping him off his palm and pushing West inside by the back. “I’ll send someone presently. I’m not sure who it will be, so don’t ask. It  _ will _ be someone you’ve met.”

 

“Got it,” West said, and Virtue shut the door on him. West took the opportunity to look around. He was in a pretty sparse circular room, perhaps small by Cybertronian standards but decently roomy by his. None of the furniture was short enough for him to jump onto except the ottoman in front of the couch, and he wasn’t about to risk breaking his acrylics on some metal couch fibers. He took a jogging start at the ottoman and jumped, snagging his arms on the top and scrabbling his way up, flopping to rest on his back on it. It was so quiet down here. There was a small holovid screen across from the couch -- West called for it to come on and it did. Most holovids in the Citadel could be voice activated if there wasn’t a remote in the vicinity. The news was on. Apparently, Megatron had made a dramatic reappearance and had quickly been taken into custody, and Decepticons in the streets were in a riot about it. A knock sounded at the door -- West jumped. “Hey,” a familiar voice called, “It’s Teaspoon. Virtue sent me.”

 

The door beeped as unlocked, and Teaspoon opened it, his single optic flaring cheerfully. “Hey,” he greeted, “how are you doing?”

 

“Fine,” West said, eyes rooted to the TV. “It’s really going pear-shaped outside, huh?”

 

“Oh,” Teaspoon said, “Yeah. Sort of.” He went to sit down on the couch. West liked Teaspoon -- he was gentle, and he was funny, if a little slow on the uptake at times. He was really quite smart, but people often assumed him dumb, and he simply didn’t bother to correct them. He was easy to talk to -- no politics or throat-cutting necessary -- and West found him rather relaxing.

  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


_ Subject: Rung of the Pious Pools _

_ Threat Level: Extremely High _

_ Probability of Guilt: Undergoing Second Evaluation _

  
  


Gadget stormed into Rung’s office for her appointment, worked into a huff. She paced for a moment or two before plunking down into her seat, and squirmed, vents huffing. Rung just waited for her to settle slightly before speaking. “Something the matter, Gadget?”

 

“YES,” she snapped, “YES. I MET SOMEONE.”

 

“Oh, good,” Rung said, and Gadget shook her head, frustrated. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all!

 

“NO,” she said, “SHE’S HOT. AND SHE’S NICE. I DON’T LIKE IT.”

 

“So, what we can do about that is --”

 

“AVOID HER,” Gadget said with confidence, and Rung shook his head, frowning slightly. He hummed softly with disapproval.

 

“Remember we talked about making connections?” he said, “It’s good for you. Try and go with this, if you enjoy it.”

 

“I DON’T NEED CONNECTIONS,” Gadget said, even more confident, and Rung shook his head. It frustrated her. She didn’t want to give into this impulse to spend more time around Flux. She was terrified something bad would happen, although she didn’t know what. Her memory pulled like a sore weld. Something was telling her this would end badly, but she couldn’t figure out what. A taste of deep orange cautioned her and she shivered. “THEY END BADLY.”

 

“Gadget,” Rung said, softly, chidingly. It irritated her and she scrunched in on herself, field grumbling and fizzing. “No matter who we are or what we’ve been through, we all need connections. Cybertronians are a social species. Why do you think it will end badly?”

 

“I-” Gadget puffed air from her vents, “I DON’T KNOW. IT WILL. I KNOW IT WILL.”

 

“Okay, but what’s making you feel like that?”

 

“I-” Gadget resisted the urge to claw into the seat, but it was a poor resistance. Her claws delicately ripped cushion, almost without thinking about it. “I DON’T KNOW. THERE’S JUST SOMETHING. I CAN’T REMEMBER.”

 

“Alright, well, we can work on that,” Rung said, “but for right now, if you like spending time with this person, why not spend time with her?”

 

“BECAUSE…” Gadget hesitated. When she didn’t finish for just shy of a minute, Rung finally spoke again.

 

“You’ll need a support system to get off of Blue Moon -- and stay off,” he said, prompting, gently. “Having some friends would be… quite useful.”

 

Gadget thought about his words. He was right. It was very pragmatic to have a wide support system when doing something that one would need support in. It was very efficient. It was quite logical. Gadget relaxed, slightly, and thought of Hock, Chug, Flight, and Keeper. “MM.” She shifted, confliction about the issue fading as she thought about how pragmatic Rung’s point was. He was right. She nodded. “IT WOULD.”

 

“So, why not foster a connection?”

 

“ALRIGHT. I GET IT.”

 

Rung ceded the point, lifting his hands to show he’d received her message and he was ready to move on.

 

_ Subject: Rung of the Pious Pools _

_ Threat Level: Extremely High _

_ Probability of Guilt: Weasley Little Bastard… But He Has Smart Advice _

  
  


\--------------------------

  
  


Flux had heard there was a psychiatrist aboard and had signed herself up for sessions almost immediately. She could, at the very least, use this time on this ship to better herself. That was how she ended up in his cozy office, looking at the model spaceships in their cases on the shelves. The psychiatrist sat down at his desk, and gestured for Flux to take a seat. She did.

 

“Pardon me,” she said, sheepishly, “But have we met? You look really familiar.”

 

Rung’s impressive eyebrows flew up for a fraction of a second before he got a hold of himself. “Uh, yes, we’ve met once before,” he coughed, discreetly. “You had been taken in by the Insti-”

 

“The Institute?  _ Then?” _ Flux sat back, puzzled. “I remember Cephalon of Tesarus, and a very ugly-looking psych -- Froid, or Vroyd, whatever his name was -- and -- oh!” Her circuits lit up all of a sudden and she leaned forwards. “And you were there too, yes! Rung, right? I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I’m usually so much better about that.” She made a note on her HUD, the same as she did when she had trouble remembering a subordinate officer’s name, and pinned it to appear when it recognized his face. 

 

Rung smiled easily. “No worries,” he said, “It happens. Now, what are you hoping to get from these sessions? Would you like to talk about that?”

 

“Yes, please!” Flux said, leaning forwards to pay attention. “I’m um, I’m not entirely sure. I just want to… make sure I’m as good of a person as I can be, I guess. I’m a bit angry with myself because I’m a little unnerved by all the Autobots aboard, and the war’s over.”

 

“Mhm. Why does it unnerve you, if that’s alright to ask?”

 

“No, it’s fine -- normally it wouldn’t, not really, but…” Flux shook her head, pressing her lips together as her strong brows drew down.  “I’m really not sure. I mean, the war’s over, and I don’t like fighting to begin with. I’m just as happy to move on as the next mech.”

 

“Then could it just be that you’re so bothered by these people because you don’t know them?”

 

“But…” Flux sighed.

 

“It seems to me like you’re looking for a reason to frame yourself as a bad person.” Rung shrugged, a hint of a smile playing at his mouth. “Just my professional opinion. I could be wrong.”

 

“Well, I mean,” Flux hedged, “you’re not wrong, but neither am I.”

 

“On the contrary,” Rung said, sitting up a little. “Would a bad person be so actively seeking out ways to make sure they don’t hurt other people?”

 

“Well… I guess not, but --”

 

“But what?”

 

“But I was a Major General in Megatron’s army,” Flux said, hand moving over her Decepticon badge as if to protect it from his name. “I didn’t leave unt -- I didn’t leave. I let Decepticonism get warped beyond recognition.”

 

Rung hummed, studying her. Flux’s body language was unusually open for a Decepticon, her eyes wide and earnest. He’d read the studies about this kind of thing -- Decepticons, on average, displayed nearly half of the emotional signifiers in their body language and vocal statics as Autobots or non-aligneds did. But Flux’s were nearly overabundant -- brimming to the surface. Rung suspected it had something to do with where she’d been constructed -- there had been studies about Lower Crestover as well. 

 

It had been a microcosm, a veritable field day for mechanthropologists, behaviorists, and social psychologists everywhere. The studies were old, now, but there were nearly as many mirroring facets of Lower Crestover culture as there were city-states on Cybertron. Eastern-Standard (where Flux was from, centered in Levelia and often called Levelian) Tally River, Hematite Mountains, Sinkhole Plateaus, to name a few places. Levelia was full of heavy-duty fliers, and if Rung remembered correctly, was very open. Not only about their emotions, but about what they thought of other people. It was considered polite to go up to someone in the street and tell them if something they did was bothering. So, Flux’s behavior, even though she was a Decepticon, really wasn’t all that surprising. He hummed. “Flux,” he began, “You’re one person. You couldn’t possibly have stopped what Megatron put in motion.”

 

“But that was my responsibility,” she argued, hand still hovering over her badge. “I failed. I got too complacent.”

 

“You were overwhelmed,” Rung corrected firmly. “Flux, it was one against a million, practically.”

 

Flux shook her helm, sighing. The two chatted for the rest of the session, until about five minutes to go. Rung switched gears.  “Why don’t we talk about something pleasant for the last few minutes, hm? How have you been adjusting otherwise.”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, smiling a little. Her cheeks pinkened. “Uh, good. I met someone. She’s nice.”

 

“Oh, did you?”  _ So it’s not Havoc, then, _ Rung thought to himself, and then admonished himself for the nasty thought. Havoc was a perfectly fine individual, if a little -- a lot -- grumpy. That meant there was only one other femmebot aboard this ship  who used she/her pronouns to his knowledge, and that was… oh dear. Rung resisted the urge to titter in charmed delight. This really was _quite_ cute.

 

“Yeah! She’s gorgeous,” Flux mooned, eyelids drooping as her chin dropped to be supported by her fist. “Oh, she’s beautiful. And she’s so nice. Quiet. But really nice. And really funny! She has really good jokes, and…” the big cargo plane sighed dreamily, cheeks flushing even brighter pink until the flush started to infect areas beyond just her cheeks. It was even creeping its way down her throat, or it would have been if Rung could see it on the dark gray of her neck cabling and the slate gray of the front paneling. “Wow,” she finished.

 

“Sounds like you two really hit it off,” Rung suggested, “why not try and see her more often?”

 

“Oh, I couldn’t,” Flux said, immediately. “I mean, I wouldn’t want to impose, and I’m me, so…”

 

“So?”

 

“Well…” Flux hedged, unsure. “I mean, I’d love to see her more often, but I wouldn’t want to be creepy!”

 

“I think there are  _ certainly _ ways to see someone you enjoy without being ‘creepy,’” Rung gently reprimanded, tilting his head to stare at her under his eyebrows. “It sounds as if she enjoys your company as well. Even if it isn’t romantic, I think she’d like it if you wanted to spend some time with her. Do you have her frequency?”

 

“Mm-nm,” Flux said, shaking her helm. “We’ve only talked a couple of times, once when I was cleaning up the writing on my door.”

 

“Oh?”

 

“It’s nothing,” Flux said, waving it aside. “Just people frustrated I’m aboard, really.”

 

“You should… report that to Ultra Magnus,” Rung urged gently. 

 

Flux shrugged. “I mean,” she hesitated, “people aren’t exactly writing libel. It’d have to be untrue. Besides, maybe it helps them vent.”

 

“The only thing it helps them with is thinking that harassment is an acceptable way to solve their problems,” Rung said. “You should report it, the next time it happens. But, I think that’s all the time we have for today. Thank you for coming in, Flux. Would you like to schedule another appointment?”

 

“Oh, yes, please. Same time next week?”

 

“Perfect,” Rung said, writing it down. “And please, do try and see this person you’ve met again, alright? I think you’ll both benefit.”

 

Flux nodded, and took her leave. She’d been keeping to herself a lot, lately, perhaps she should go to Swerve’s and try to pick a table closer to the middle.

  
  


\-----------------------------

  
  


West took a deep breath and released it, before pressing the button on the doorpad to open the door, revealing Starscream lounging on a comfy sofa and watching late night news. He held a fluted glass of engex in one hand and was chatting boredly with Virtue, who was sitting across from him on a matching chair set to the sofa. West walked in slowly as the door shut behind him, and conversation stopped.

 

“Oh,” Starscream said, evaluating him with a careful eye. “It’s you.”

 

“Indeed,” West said, with the same wary tone as he bowed. “Emperor Starscream. How good to see you.”

 

“Your Neocybex is good,” Starscream said, finger tapping the side of his glass. Then he tilted his head slightly. He said the next part of the phrase in English. “For an organic.”

 

West slouched back onto one foot and bent his other knee slightly, crossing his arms. “So is _your_ English,” he said in Neocybex, “for a robot.”

 

Virtue hurriedly took another sip from his own glass as West and Starscream sized each other up, eyeing each other. They hadn’t really had the opportunity to truly meet thus far, what with the government having to recover from the most recent bout of Decepticon unrest. West had had to make at least 3 public statements reassuring those on Earth that everything was, indeed, under control.

 

The staredown lasted for a couple of seconds. West flicked some hair out of his eyes and flippantly waved the tension away. “Good to see someone else with taste around here,” he complimented, and walked right over to shimmy his way onto the opposite side of the couch from Starscream, who eyed him again, but this time in a new light.

 

“How true,” the emperor said slowly, but preened a little to himself. Virtue barely recovered from snorting into his drink before he did so. “How are you and mm, your colleague getting along?”

 

“Ugh!” West said, waving a hand and looking away. “He’s a joke, is what he is. He thinks I’m some lost little girl in over my head on a big scary foreign planet.”

 

“And judging from your tone and your glyphs, I assume that’s incorrect?”

 

“What I am,” West said, “is a  _ successful, charismatic, knowledgeable _ gay trans man taking the opportunity of a lifetime to live and work somewhere I feel more at home at.”

 

Starscream looked rather puzzled by it all. “Why would he think you’re a femme -- er, a woman, then?”

 

“He’s stupid,” West said, waving a hand, “and transphobic. Earth, particularly certain cultures, has hangups about that kind of thing. But, that’s not important right now. It really is good to meet you, Starscream. I’ve heard good things about you from Virtue.”

 

Virtue grimaced a smile and toasted his glass when Starscream looked over to him. The Emperor Perpetua looked back down at West. “Thank you. You’ll have to meet me again for the cameras soon, though. There’s a function coming up to make it official with you and yours. A… meet and greet, if you will.”

 

“Oh! Awesome,” West said, and leaned back into the cushions. “I wasn’t aware.”

 

“I sent you a memo,” Virtue said into his drink. West waved it off with a little scoff. 

 

“I was out of the office tonight, I got all my work done early,” he said, neglecting to mention where he’d been. He’d met up with a very nice gentlemech and had quite a wonderful evening before returning to the Citadel. Perhaps it wasn’t wise for a human ambassador to be rendezvousing with strange mecha without his usual armed escort for the public, but West was here for both business and pleasure. He lived here, after all. “Do I have time to invite someone, or is this a more closed off sort of thing?”

 

“Invitations are welcome, provided that they’re close friends or family,” Virtue said, inclining his helm. “You may invite who you choose.”

 

West smiled, leaning his head back and letting a very smug, devious smile play across his lips. Starscream’s brow quirked with interest, and recognition. He knew that emotion, he’d worn it himself.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Wesley got out of his car, having finished his last class of the day, and hauled his messenger bag out of his passenger’s seat. He walked back up the driveway to the mailbox, got the mail, and hummed curiously at the large envelope with something heavy inside of it. He went into his house and closed the door behind himself, spreading out the mail on the table to paw through. He picked up the envelope and saw it was addressed to Mr. Cartwright, Mr. Cartwright, and Mr. Hernandez, in fancy script on the stuck-on label. He frowned in curiosity and tore the top open, sliding what looked like a computer tablet into his hand. It activated when he righted it, softly glowing, and held a message.

 

“Dear Sirs,

 

You are hereby formally invited to the official introductory dinner of Lord Starscream, High Chancellor of the Refulgent Cybertronian Dynasty, Emperor Perpetua, and Defender of the Realm. This invitation has been extended by Ambassador West McLambert of Statsin, Iowa, Human Ambassador to the Refulgent Cybertronian Dynasty. We would appreciate your swift reply regarding your attendance. The attire is formal.

 

Yours,

Virtue of Vos, Head of Security for Emperor Starscream, & Ambassador West 

McLambert of Statsin.”

 

Wesley nearly fell out of his chair and put the tablet down on the kitchen island like it was a hot coal. “Oh dear,” he said, wringing his hands. “Oh, my goodness. Arthur! Ehsan! Come here, please, take a look at this!”

 

Feet pounded as Ehsan rushed in, eyes wide. “What? What is it?”

 

“Nothing bad, don’t worry,” Wesley soothed, and Arthur poked his head in from the other room.

 

“What’s going on?”

 

“Oh, you’ll never believe it,” Wesley beamed, hefting the tablet. “West is the human ambassador to Cybertron! And he’s invited us to some kind of dinner!”

 

“Well, what are you waiting for, sign the RSVP,” Arthur said, coming a little more into the doorway to lean against the doorjamb. “Good to know he’s alright.”

 

“I know,” Wesley said, nodding sadly, “I was so worried for him.” He looked down at the invitation and the RSVP option, and clicked “yes for all parties.” Then he clicked the “send” option and beamed. “There! We’re all signed up to go, it’s a week from now. We’d better find some good suits!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so! What do you all think?


	5. I Won't Say I'm In Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> West has Earthly troubles, but Virtue steps up to go to bat for him -- much to West's delighted surprise. Gadget and Fortress Maximus run into each other for the first time since Garrus-9, and Gadget and Flux's relationship continues to bloom. But everything has to grind to a halt when Rung is taken hostage in his office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings for this chapter:
> 
>  
> 
> transphobia, implied sexual harassment starting with the line "West walked in, tucking some hair behind his ear as he surveyed the room" and ending with the line "Anyways," West said, "That's why I hate Earth policy meetings."
> 
>  
> 
> PTSD flashback/psychotic delusion starting at the line "Gadget prayed the elevator would get there faster, but the button wasn’t responding" and ending with the line "Havoc watched Rung leave and then looked down at Gadget, who was making soft noises into her chest like she was crying."
> 
>  
> 
> Gadget struggling with internalized ableism (the idea that psychosis makes someone violent) starting with line "Gadget hated that the feeling made her relax even through her sudden misery." and ending with the line "Flux’s field was gentle, like cooling gel on a chemical burn."

“Ugh,” West announced, flopping into a chair after he hauled himself up onto it. Virtue inclined a brow, as if to say “care to elaborate?” so West did. “I hate policy meetings,” West said, “more specifically, I hate Earth policy meetings.”

 

“Do tell,” Virtue said calmly, voice neutral. West let out a sigh and a growl and sat up.

 

“Okay, so. I-”

  
  


\------------------------

  
  


_ West walked in, tucking some hair behind his ear as he surveyed the room. Johnson was already seated, West’s seat empty next to him. He smiled at the room at large and gracefully went to go sit, sinking down sideways in his seat and then shimmying to the regular position. The room felt small, despite being not particularly very humble. He flipped open his notes and files, and Johnson leaned over to peek. “Why are they in robot language?” _

 

_ West snapped the folder shut, leaning away from him. “Eyes on your own paper, Johnson of Maine.” _

 

_ “Everything alright over there?” The Secretary of something-or-other -- Foreign Affairs probably. West smiled and started to answer, but Johnson cut him off. _

 

_ "She's fine," he said confidently, and West's blood  _ **_boiled._ ** _ As he was about to say something, the President and Vice President entered the room. As they passed, the President's hands came down on West's shoulders and squeezed, and West was almost sick all over his notes.  _

 

_ "How are things on the robot planet?" He asked, and West prayed his hands would lift soon. "Huh, Johnson? And uh," it was clear he didn't remember West's name, "Glitters, heh. That's a good nickname for you." _

 

_ "Quite," West ground out through his teeth, "things are great." _

 

_ "Good, good," the man said, and started babbling about some stupid thing or other. His hands slid off West's shoulders- _

 

"You must be joking," Virtue snorted in shock and disgust. "The man manhandles his own employees?"

 

West nodded grimly, and kept talking.

 

_ -and away. The President and VP went to their seats and the meeting got under way. "Our priority for right now," the Secretary of Defense said, as West boredly read over his notes, "is trying to get as much information as possible about these machines without them knowing we're trying to get the upper hand." West reached for the glass of water in front of him. "As per the President’s newest proposal, we're going to make a formal request that any citizen a part of New Iacon divulges their altmode to us." _

 

_ West choked on his water and spat it into his glass, drawing looks.  _ **_"Hyow? Hyow t'nanterip-quu(_ ** **_va)_ ** **_?"_ ** _ He croaked, still coughing a little. When that only garnered him stares, he cleared his throat and tried again. "Pardon, what did you say, Madam Secretary?" _

 

_ "I said we should make a formal request for these creatures' alternate modes," she said, lifting an eyebrow. "Something to get off of your chest, Ambassador?" _

 

_ "Forgive me for my candor but that's one of the worst ideas I've ever heard," West said, direly, his eyes wide and honest under his brows. "These people just had a four-million year long war, slaughtering half their population and their planet over that issue -- or at the very least, an adjacent one." _

 

_ "That's all very well, but-" _

 

_ "Can you honestly not see the danger in making the brand new Cybertronian government request a mandatory altmode disclosure from these people, lots of which are Decepticons or even Decepticon hardliners? Major General Flux might be --" he paused, suddenly emotional. He shoved it down. "Out of the picture, but her supporters and her subordinates aren't, and most of them are fundamentalist traditionalists like she was. I mean it, the whole nine yards. Which is what we want though, all the imperialism came later." _

 

_ "It sounds like they wouldn't have a problem with it, then." _

 

_ "Do any of you even know the traditional tenets of Decepticonism?" _

 

_ "That's your job, Ambassador," someone else cut in. West huffed through his nose. _

 

_ "And not only are you a prisoner within the system, you are a prisoner within your own body. The Functionists built the lock and the Senate holds the key. Towards Peace, chapter 6, lines 341-345, by Megatron of Tarn," West quoted, "and there's lots more of that same sentiment. Trust me. You  _ **_cannot_ ** _ ask about that, especially not in our capacity as a government. People will see it as a grasp for control -- a return to Functionism, worst case scenario -- and they will riot in the streets. Led by Generals Carapace, Regus, Oracle, Zag, and Zoom, no doubt. Another  _ **_war_ ** _ will break out." _

 

_ "You have the Decepticon leader's works memorized," the vice president said, tone leading. West speared him with a glare. _

 

_ "One, how do you think I learned their language? Two, I find it quite useful to acquaint myself with a culture's history if I'm going to be their ambassador." _

 

_ Johnson cleared his throat. “I think Ambassador McLambert has several good points, but she-” _

 

_ “He,” West muttered, and Johnson continued. _

 

_ “-hasn’t quite developed the top-down perspective for this kind of job yet. But that comes with time, we won’t hold that against he-" _

 

_ "Him," West muttered, getting more pissed off by the second. _

 

_ "-r, will we?" Johnson finished.  _

  
  


\----------------------

  
  


"Anyways," West said, "That's why I hate Earth policy meetings."

 

“Let me get this quite clear,” Virtue said, raising a brow ridge. "Your Earth superiors want to have a mandatory altmode disclosure?"

 

West nodded sheepishly, and produced his phone from his jacket. "I'll uh, send you the form."

 

Virtue took out a datapad and watched the message come in, opening it. He took it in with varying degrees of disgust, and finally put it down, nose turned up. "Absolutely disgraceful. Would you mind walking to my office with me, West? I have to make a call."

 

West, giddy with the knowledge that someone was about to get a weapons-grade ass chewing, followed. Virtue reached his office door first and held out a hand. "If you wouldn't mind waiting out here, just a moment. Thank you."

 

West just put his ear to the door the moment it closed. He wasn’t disappointed. Shuffling around sounded from inside, and then Virtue cleared his throat, waiting (likely for someone to pick up.)

 

“Yes,” he said, in English, “It’s Virtue of Vos, head of Cybertronian Security. I need to speak to someone… important, please. Put the Secretary of Defense on the phone.” Unfortunately, West couldn’t hear the other end of the line, but he tried to piece it together through Virtue’s end. “No, that is not who I asked for. I said the Secretary of Defense. I am not to be _jerked around_ like some kind of  _imbecile.”_

 

West giggled in delighted, vindictive glee as Virtue kept speaking. “Thank you. Yes, I’ll hold.” 

 

He cleared his throat, apparently having been connected. “Afternoon, Madam Secretary. And how are your genitals today?”

 

West clapped hands over his mouth to avoid screaming with laughter and made a noise like a hot teakettle, softly. Teaspoon crept up, having noticed West’s amused distress from where he’d been wandering the halls. “What’s going on?” he hissed, smiling. West shushed him and pointed to the closed doors where Virtue finally spoke again, likely after receiving an attempt at a chew-out.

 

“Ah. I apologize. I thought rude, invasive questions was something you all just did. I see you’ve approved a mandate for us to disclose our altmodes to your government. I can tell you without a doubt that no one with any sort of sense would agree to such a crass, crude demand, and only a fool would approve this. I am not a fool, Madam Secretary. Do I seem like a fool to you?” he waited. “Excellent. This mandate will fail harder than your job.” He paused for a moment. "Also, it's come to my attention that our ambassador is not receiving the respect he's deserved. Yes, McLambert. I hear that people are calling him a woman and referring to him as such? This is clearly ridiculous and I find it particularly odious."

 

West took a moment from his delighted snickering to be shocked and delighted that Virtue was bringing this up.

 

"Yes, I do," Virtue said, sharply. "And you will stop this behavior, or Cybertron will rescind its alliance. Good day, Madam Secretary." And with that, he hung up.

 

West giggled, “oh, shit, you should go,” to Teaspoon, who opened his mouth to reply. Then Virtue opened the door, and looked over, raising an eyebrow. 

 

“Teaspoon, you know this is an unauthorized space for you. What are you doing here?”

 

“Just wandering,” Teaspoon said sheepishly, grinning and looking away as he scuffed a foot on the floor. “I saw West looking red as a beet with laughter so I came over to ask him what was up.”

 

“I suppose my phone call was amusing to you, then?” Virtue quipped, glancing down at West, eyebrow still raised.

 

“Hilarious,” West affirmed.

 

Virtue huffed a soft laugh through his nose and his expression relaxed. “Very well,” he said, “Teaspoon, I’ll look the other way for now -- but you and the ambassador might want to relocate if you want to keep this chat going.”

 

“Got it,” Teaspoon said, “Here, West, I got somethin’ to show ya.” 

  
  
  


\---------------------------

  
  


Flux and Gadget were at what had quickly become Their Table at Swerve’s. They’d been there ever since their shifts were over, and time seemed to stand still as they talked, wholly absorbed in each others’ presence and conversation. The background noise of the bar had long since trickled away as Gadget allowed herself to relax marginally in her chair, gaze trained to Flux’s impressive left eyebrow. The plane had propped her elbow on the table to rest her chin in her fist, and the smile playing across her faceplates was… Gadget wasn’t sure what it was. Either way, she’d gotten so absorbed in the conversation that she’d forgotten to ask Flux if they could move to a rec room, because Capacitor was going to come in at approximately 9pm on the dot. She always did on the fourth day of the week.

 

Flux was talking about something or other -- Gadget knew that she was hearing the words, but they just wouldn’t sink in. Something about how that Ratchet and the others were coming back from Delphi, she’d heard. Gadget’s gaze was almost magnetized to the plane’s hypnotic yellow eyes, the yellow-tinged glass a symbol of her starting lot. Yellow, red and green optic glass was cheap. Flux, however… Flux wore the yellow like nobility. Like she had chained the sun. Something about it was so entrancing and it made Gadget want to ghost her. (On a deeper level, it made the empurata want to kiss her, and  _ that _ was what made Gadget want to ghost Flux.)

 

Gadget had gotten so hypnotized by Flux’s gentlestrong facial features that she barely noticed Capacitor’s brownish-gray form walk in and head straight to the bar. Her finials flattened instantly, and Flux stopped talking, eyebrows knitting down. “What’s the matter?” Her gaze followed Gadget’s and her face soured further. “Oh. Let’s g-”

 

Apparently, Capacitor felt eyes on her, because she swiveled around and saw the two of them staring. Gadget looked away immediately, claw tapping the table, but Flux’s field only flared challenge and disgust. Capacitor placed her order and walked over, and Gadget was painfully aware that she was in the corner, the only ways out by Flux or her sparktwin. “My two favorite people,” Capacitor deadpanned, leaning her hands on the table. “What’s the monster squad doing here? Since when did you guys get cozy?”

 

“Capacitor, go away,” Flux said crossly, leaning back in her creaky chair. “We were doing just fine before you got here and we’ll do just fine after you leave.”

 

“You know she’s a mass murderer, right?” Capacitor addressed Gadget, who risked a peek. Her gray faceplates were twisted into a very ugly, self-righteous smirk. “She probably needs to get her afthole checked after having Megatron’s fist up it for so long-”

 

“Enough,” Flux snapped, leaning away and putting her forearms on the table. Her field brewed darkly. “You’re not wanted here. We’re having a nice evening.”

 

“Seems fitting that you hang out with a Garrus-Tenner,” Capacitor laughed, an ugly laugh that had a little snort. Then, something seemed to dawn on her, and her smile faded. She glanced back and forth between Flux and Gadget. Her face transitioned from thoughtful to shocked, delighted, and mocking. “Oh, my god. No.  _ You?” _

 

Flux’s face went bright pink and she looked away. Gadget wasn’t sure what that meant. The bigger plane cleared her throat. “It’s not like that. Go away, Cap.”

 

“No, no, this is fucking  _ rich,” _ Capacitor said, gleefully. Flux gritted her teeth. By now, the bar had gone quiet, a nest of dozens of eyes attuned to the scene. “You?  _ Major General Flux of the Decepticons? _ Oh my god, you  _ can’t _ make that up.”

 

Gadget felt her own temper rising. This had been a good night. It could still be a good night if Capacitor would _ go away. _ Flux had given Gadget her frequency and Gadget had even  _ taken _ it. “JUST GET TO YOUR POINT.”

 

Capacitor ignored her. “See, I outranked this bitch on Tebba-”

 

“So you’re a former commanding officer, bullying one of your former subordinates?” Flux snapped. “Charming. Go the fuck away, Capacitor, I won’t ask you again.”

 

“GET TO YOUR POINT ALREADY,” Gadget snarled. Capacitor laughed.

 

“You’re a fuckin’  _ stamp licker!” _ Capacitor crowed with glee, and Gadget could see Flux’s nose wrinkle, her jaw clench, and her eyes widen in rage. She stood up and clocked Capacitor one smooth uppercut in one fluid motion, remaining standing. Capacitor fell on her ass with a shout and Flux advanced, plating rising in challenge and dominance. Cap pulled herself back on her elbows, but Flux planted a foot between her legs and leaned forwards. Gadget only saw her back, but she could practically see the hate wiggling off her backplates like temperature wiggles.

 

“Do not,” Flux growled, “Call me that. Why would you even  _ say _ that?”

 

“It’s Gadget of Carthex, you fucking dolt,” Capacitor said, and Gadget didn’t miss the way that nearly every Autobot in the bar had a hand on a weapon somewhere on their person. “The only way someone could like her is if they’ve got an empurata feti-!” Her statement cut off with a gurgle as Flux grabbed her by the throat and hauled her up, pushing her away. The guns came out.

 

Flux growled and turned away, marching back over to their table and trying to take a breath. She sighed heavily and paid her tab with the screen Swerve had at the table, and offered a weak smile at Gadget.

 

“Sorry,” she murmured, “I’m just going to go ahead and go back to my room for the night. Rain check? If… if you want?” It was almost inaudible.

 

Gadget nodded, a little in shock. Flux offered another, apologetic smile and walked away, going out the door. Only then did the blasters start to go down, and Gadget noticed that several even  _ powered _ down. Slowly, chatter started up again and Capacitor rubbed her throat uncomfortably, seemingly glad that her name was called for her drink. Gadget didn’t stick around to find out, paying her tab and making a break for it. She was headed to the elevator when footsteps down the hall sounded. It caused her the normal, slight amount of anxiety -- after all, the elevator was down a corridor, with the only way out towards the footsteps -- but nothing out of the ordinary. That is, until Gadget had gotten only halfway to the elevator and Fortress Maximus came into view. 

 

Gadget’s finials flattened all the way to her helm plating and her antenna pointed to the floor, and she turned to rush the elevator. It was a mistake. Fort Max picked up on the increased heel clicks and made a noise of inquisition as Gadget hit the door with her body (she overcompensated with her speed) and started trying to hammer the elevator button, spark pounding. 

 

“Gadget?” Fort Max’s voice called, taking on a tone of disbelief. Then it bloomed into one of incredulous anger.  _ “Gadget of Carthex? _ You  _ dare _ show your face in public after what you did?”

 

Gadget prayed the elevator would get there faster, but the button wasn’t responding. This ship was fucking garbage. Shit was still on the blink after the quantum blast. She’d have to go around Fort Max. She turned and lowered her stance slightly, mechadrenaline hitting her in a rush that nearly made her dizzy. It was straddling the line between making her dizzy and throwing everything into focus. She’d have to try and squeeze around him, preferably when he charged. Then she could feint to the right and take a left instead, try to get to one of the storage rooms to hide out in if she couldn’t make it back to her cell. 

 

No. Doing that would be a bad idea. He had access to the codes. Scratch that, she needed to get to the security suite and lock herself in. She could deal with staff when it came to that.

 

Fortress Maximus took a few steps forwards and Gadget rushed him, ignoring his shout and rolling between his legs. She feinted to the right and ran left, towards the security suite. She ran for a few moments before remembering she could transform in a burst of illumination. She did and burned rubber.

 

She screeched to a halt, transforming back to root mode. The layout was wrong. It was all wrong! None of the hallways led to where they should and this should have been a cell block by now. How did she lose her bearings? She’d been here for half a million years, how could she get lost?

 

She decided that there was no time to mull on it and just took off in a random direction, anxiety growing by the minute until she nearly ran headfirst into an orange bot just about her size. He reminded her of someone so clearly, but she couldn't put her claw on it. Maybe… a guard? No, couldn’t be. He was too small and he didn’t have any weapons on his hip. 

 

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? THEY DON'T PUT PEOPLE LIKE YOU IN HERE."

  
  


\-------------------------

  
  


Rung blinked at Gadget's uncalled-for question, a little offended. They'd only had a few sessions and Gadget was clearly agitated about something, but was he really that hard to remember? (He knew the answer to that one.) There was no call to be rude. But the wording of her last statement gave him pause. That was an odd way to ask why he was on the Lost Light, though he did admit he felt out of place. And the use of "in" versus "on" was very strange indeed.

 

He decided to ask. "And, where is 'here,' Gadget?"

 

She gave him a flighty, judgemental look. "WHATEVER. I NEED TO GET TO THE SECURITY SUITE AND I MUST BE IN THE WRONG WING.” After saying that, she looked over her shoulder and around, and Rung sensed something very wrong. He frowned. He’d better try and herd her back to his office and they could work from there.

 

“Well, I can take you.”

 

“I DON’T NEED YOU TO TAKE ME, I NEED YOU TO TELL ME. WHAT ARE YOU PLAYING AT?”

 

“Nothing,” Rung said, very calmly. Something was _definitely_ amiss. “I’m just not very good at directions, so I can show you better than I can tell you.”

 

Gadget seemed to accept that, nodding, and then shuffled impatiently, looking over her shoulder again. She seemed to peer harshly at him as if straining to decipher just who he was. “WELL. GO, THEN.”

 

“Alright. Follow me.” Rung started walking and noticed that Gadget seemed to be nearly clipping his heels in her hurry, looking behind herself. He was about to ask what was she looking for when footsteps made themselves known and Gadget froze up, finials quivering. Fortress Maximus stormed around the corner, face drawn into a righteous livid scowl, and Gadget jumped back, plating flaring out all at once. She whipped her arm up and when her arm finished the motion a gun was resting in her claws. 

 

Fort Max stopped. “Is that wise, Gadget of Carthex?” The tone of his voice was positively  _ chilling. _ Rung realized that his night was not going to be as easy as he was looking forward to. He opened his mouth to say something and Gadget flicked the safety off.

 

“I’VE KILLED A GUARD BEFORE.”

 

“I was your warden, Gadget.”

 

Gadget tilted her helm quietly, in a way that even gave Fortress Maximus pause. Then she said, “ONE STEP UP CAN’T BE ALL THAT HARD.”

 

Rung pushed in between the two, holding his hands out. “Now, let’s see if we all can’t calm do-”

 

“Stop waving that thing in my face,” Fort Max snarled, pointing over Rung. “You haven’t made me suffer enough? I should --”

 

“I WILL FUCKING SHOOT YOU RIGHT FUCKING NOW,” Gadget snarled, priming the blaster to fire. “I WILL PAINT THE WALLS WITH YOUR FUCKING BRAINS. I DON’T CARE. LEAVE ME ALONE.”

 

“ _ Nobody _ is shooting  _ anybody!” _ Rung shouted, looking back and forth. Then he turned his attention to Maximus. “Fortress Maximus, leave now. Please.”

 

“But-”

 

_ “Leave.  _ **_Now.”_ **

 

Fort Max’s eyes flicked to Gadget one more time and he seemed cowed, backing away before finally turning and walking. His footsteps quickened when they were almost out of earshot. What happened next  _ assured _ Rung that the night was going to be a long one.

 

“I’M GOING TO SAVOR THE LOOK BETWEEN YOUR NON-EYES AS I PUT A HOLE RIGHT IN BETWEEN THEM,” Gadget said coldly, bumping the back of Rung’s head with her (still primed) blaster. Rung’s hands transitioned to held up, palms facing outwards.

 

“May I turn around?” he asked, very quietly and calmly even though his spark was racing. Gadget’s feet shuffled, as if she were excited, or even aroused.

 

“PLEASE DO,” she said, nearly salivating over it, and Rung sorely regretted asking. Slowly, he shuffled around, trying not to swallow the lump in his throat, and nearly went cross-eyed at the blaster nudging his nose, Gadget’s impassive screen behind it. Her finials and antennae all quivered and trembled with sheer anticipation for what was sure to be his head exploding. 

 

“May I take off my glasses?” Rung asked, hoping that this would give her pause. She did pause, and then nodded, apparently a little confused.

 

Rung reached over to his face and took his glasses away, blue eyes squinting for a moment before readjusting as best they could. Gadget almost jumped, gun twitching a little. "YOU HAVE EYES? THEN WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?"

 

Rung didn't like whatever it was that that was implying, and he  _ really _ didn't like that those two questions were apparently linked to each other. "Er -- yes, I do have eyes. Who did you think I was?"

 

Gadget trembled, claws flexing around the trigger as she readjusted her grip. "DOESN'T MATTER. WHO ARE YOU?"

 

Rung grimaced. Perhaps it would be best to simply say so? She was apparently operating under some kind of delusion, but Rung wasn't sure where of (he had his suspicions.) "I am Rung of the Pious Pools, and I'm your psychiatrist, Gadget."

 

The gun aggressively bumped his forehead and Gadget's finials laid back flat. Her antennae trembled nervously, and above all, she just looked scared and small despite her best efforts to puff herself up -- perhaps to a layperson it would have worked, but to Rung, it was transparent. "DON'T BULLSHIT ME. DO YOU THINK I'M STUPID OR SOMETHING? WHIRLYGIG OF BEBB IS THE ONLY PRACTICING PSYCHIATRIST IN GARRUS-10."

 

Oh,  _ fuck. _ Rung did some quick thinking. He also took a moment to feel very sorry for Whirlygig. (He'd heard of her -- any self respecting psychiatrist had. She was practically a miracle worker due to her outlier ability.) "Did the warden not tell you?" He asked, trying not to swallow the lump in his throat too obviously. "Whirlygig's patient load was too much, so they brought me in. I was more specialized to deal with trauma issues such as yours, so they're switching you into my caseload. We're due for our first session next week." Rung ignored the fact that they would never transfer someone with trust issues like Gadget's if they could help it. His comms lit up with a ping from Ultra Magnus. 

 

**:Rung, Fortress Maximus told me everything. Stay calm, I’m on my way with security.:**

 

Momentary panic seized the psychiatrist. If Gadget saw armed guards coming, she’d fire without hesitation, definitely killing him and maybe a few other people, and most likely getting herself killed in the process.  **:No! Stay back! If she sees anyone else coming she will fire. Gadget doesn’t think she’s on the Lost Light right now and if she sees someone who doesn’t fit into her delusion even more than I, it could make her panic.:**

 

"WHAT? NO. NO. WHIRLYGIG WOULDN'T DO THAT TO ME. SHE WOULDN'T -- SHE -- SHE WOULD HAVE TOLD ME. AT LEAST."

 

**:Rung, she’s got a** **_gun_ ** **on you.:**

 

**:I know.:** Rung tried very hard to focus on the more pressing conversation. "I'm very sorry dear, but perhaps she thought she already told you," Rung said, sympathetically. "You know she has memory lapses sometimes, a nasty side effect of her psychosis, I'm afraid. Can you please put the gun down?"

 

**:Rung, it’s** **_Gadget of Carthex.:_ **

 

**:I’m aware!:** Rung sent, a little frantically.

 

Gadget seemed to relax, flicking the safety back on the blaster and powering it down, lowering it. "FINE."

 

"Good. Now, come with me? Now that Fortress Maximus is gone, why don't we go to the medibay, perhaps?" Rung was half expecting suggesting where to go to end very badly. But to his surprise, she nodded after a moment.

 

"YOU MEAN THE CLINIC."

 

"Yes, the clinic, sorry. I was on Kimia before this and we called it a medibay. Now, let's go, shall we?"

 

"HAVEN'S NOT GONNA LIKE THAT I PULLED A GUN ON THE WARDEN," Gadget said, and followed Rung when he started walking. As they made their journey, she steadily grew more and more tired, until she was barely stumbling and shuffling along behind Rung and her finials were drooping. She was mumbling nonsense, the buzz in her vocalizer blurring words together so as to be unintelligible. Ultra Magnus commed Rung. 

 

**:Is the situation under control?:**

 

**:Quite, for the moment. We're on our way to the medibay.:**

 

**:Are you alright?:**

 

**:Fine,:** Rung responded, a little irritated,  **:and Gadget is as well, if confused and tired.:**

 

**:Right.:** Ultra Magnus's comm sounded almost sheepish.  **:Excellent, then.:**

 

The got to the medibay and the doors opened to reveal Havoc and Caduceus. The latter stood up in alarm. "What's going on? Is she alright?"

 

Havoc stood up as well, but it was only to calmly approach Gadget, who staggered towards her with arms outstretched as she chanted "HAVEN…" lowly again and again. The empurata collapsed into a hug with Havoc and heaved a great sigh, finials flattening as she made a few whimpering noises. Havoc hesitantly reached up to pat her back, hands faltering a couple times on their journey. She shot Rung a “what the fuck?” look and Rung waved it aside, finally letting himself breathe after saying “I’ll explain later. Keep her here overnight.”

 

“Got it,” Havoc whispered. Rung gratefully turned tail and left to trudge back to his office, going to write up a report.

  
  


\-------------------------------

  
  


Havoc watched Rung leave and then looked down at Gadget, who was making soft noises into her chest like she was crying. They sounded odd and broken with her miner’s drone. At their desk, Caduceus of Ysoltü walked over from where they were standing to investigate, frowning. “Aww,” they cooed, disgustingly sweet, “what’s the matter with her? Is she alright?”

 

“Back off, Caduceus,” Havoc growled, turning Gadget away from them a little. They just persisted, almost ignoring Havoc.

 

“I can take her and get her settled,” they said, voice hinting at something as they eyed Havoc. “Y’know, give her some comfort.”

 

“You need to back your scrawny little ass off before I rip you a new exhaust port with my bare hands,” Havoc snarled through her teeth, hands tightening on Gadget, who had since stopped making noise and barely felt awake. Caduceus jerked their head back and frowned harshly.

 

“She deserves a doctor that actually cares and can provide actual compassionate care,” they snapped back, “not some two-sided murderer.”

 

Havoc transformed the flamethrower in her hand and pointed it at them, flame flickering to life at the end. “Sit  _ your ass  _ **_down_ ** **_now!_ ** **_”_ ** she roared, and it made Gadget jump. It made Caduceus jump too, all the way back to their chair that they hurriedly sat down in. Havoc gently rubbed Gadget’s back as she made a few fussing noises and then quietly drifted off again. Caduceus was quietly weeping at their desk. Havoc guided a half-asleep Gadget to a bed and lifted her onto it, tucking up a blanket over her before giving her a quick scan. Her sparkrate was elevated. 

 

Havoc softly brushed a hand over Gadget's forehelm, and though she was loathe to admit it, her spark ached for the speedster. Whatever had happened, it had reduced Gadget to crying, something that Havoc had never seen before.

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


Gadget blearily came online only about halfway, and the first thought in her mind was a feeling of crushing loneliness -- like all of the isolation in her lifetime came at her at once in one potent dose. She whined and shifted, wanting warmth and comfort. She mumbled, mind's screen filled with nebulous concepts of bigness and yellow eyes and a sweet, warm voice. "FLUX…" she mumbled. Someone asked her something but it didn't go through. Gadget was too confused and tired to wake up all the way. "WANT FLUX…"

 

Someone laid a hand on her shoulder and she cringed away, relaxing when the hand vanished. The air was cold, but she was warm, something draped over her to keep her toasty. She drifted in and out, idly listening to the beep of monitors when she was awake enough. Her consciousness stirred briefly when she heard the doors open and big footsteps come in, voices murmuring just barely comprehensible. The first one was soft, familiar. “Is Gdaegt arlihgt?”

 

“Yaeh,” the other, rougher voice responded. “Be cearful, tohugh.”

 

“Mhm.” The big footsteps approached the bed and the squeal of a chair being pulled up sounded. Then, warmer than the physical blanket on top of her, Flux’s field was blanketing Gadget warmly. Gadget let out a big sigh of relief and turned onto her side closer, desperately wishing that Flux would hold her, just for a little bit. The plane’s field trembled with unsurity for just a second, and the air trembled just above Gadget’s side before Flux’s big hand came to gently rest over it. The speedster sagged in even more relief and the hand tenderly pet over her, Flux’s thumb rubbing softly. Gadget felt warm, suddenly, much warmer than the blanket could make her. Tension that she didn’t even know she had left her body and she was just tired and empty, and lonely. A pang of craving for Blue Moon hit her but it was quickly swept away by her craving for Flux to hold her. She wanted that more than anything in the world, in that moment. The empuratee even stirred, a claw reaching out before she aborted the movement and tried to play it off as if it never happened. Flux’s hand left her side and the aching chill was like the harshest blizzard.

 

It wrapped warmly around her claw and tenderly encircled around her whole claw up to the wrist, swallowing the end of her arm due to the sheer size difference. Nobody… had ever done that before. Nobody held her claws. Gadget hadn’t had anyone slip their hand into hers since as long as she could remember, since she started living a different life with no hands whatsoever. It was startling enough that she finally onlined her visor and pulled her helm up, finials flicking in confusion. Flux’s face was trained on her, yellow eyes flicking over her screen concernedly. Gadget cleared her vocalizer. “WHAT… ARE YOU DOING?”

 

“Oh, uh,” Flux said, cheeks a little pink, “Havoc told me that you weren’t feeling great, I just… got worried about you. I figured it was okay to come and see you?”

 

Gadget nodded. “I DIDN’T EXPECT ANYONE TO COME.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Gadget was quiet for a long moment. Flux flushed darker in embarrassment. 

 

Gadget moved on. “BESIDES. NOT WHAT I MEANT. WHY ARE YOU…” She nodded towards Flux’s hand, gently held over her lower arm. Flux’s hand twitched.

 

“Oh, is, uh, is that okay?”

 

“OH. YEAH. IT’S FINE. IT’S FINE. I JUST… NOBODY TOUCHES… THERE.”

 

“It’s just your claws, honey,” Flux murmured, helm ducking. Their faces were close. Gadget’s sparkbeat picked up and she hated the way the monitor caught it. Her body felt warm and tingly. “It’s not like I’m going to catch the rot.” 

 

Gadget wracked her brain about what “the rot” meant to distract herself from the implications of the moment. She couldn’t have been referring to a rust infection, it made no sense. Flux was probably talking about cyberplastronelysis, a communicable disease where one’s plating was eaten away by malfunctioning nanites. If Gadget remembered correctly, people from Lower Crestover simply called it, “the bot rot,” or, “the rot” for short. That had to be it. Flux’s eyes were distractingly yellow. Gadget didn’t even  _ like _ yellow. It was an ugly color. It  _ should _ have been an ugly color. It had  _ no right _ being that pretty set in Flux’s face like that, like two supernovas. “UM. THANKS. UM. IT FEELS GOOD. SO. YOU DON’T HAVE TO… MOVE.”

 

“Oh,” Flux said, equally as bumbling as her face turned even pinker, “Oh. Um. Uh. Thank you. Er. Okay. I, uh, I won’t then.”

 

“GOOD.”

 

“Good.”

 

“For fuck’s sake,” Havoc muttered across the room, and tossed a datapad onto her desk. Caduceus’ desk was empty. Flux’s face flushed  _ even darker _ (if that was possible) and she glanced over.

 

“Do you _ mind?” _

 

“Not at all,” Havoc said, getting up and coming over to check Gadget over. “How ya doing, short stack?”

 

“ME?”

 

“Yeah, you.”

 

“FINE, I GUESS.”

 

“Rung says you had a pretty serious episode yesterday,” Havoc said casually, running her fingers up the length of Gadget’s arm to check sensors. Gadget’s finials flicked in confusion. Yesterday was largely a blur… the last thing Gadget remembered was having a drink with Flux in Swerve’s. Everything after that was a blank hole of confusion and dread.

 

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?”

 

“Do you remember anything from yesterday, at all?”

 

“NO.”

 

“Well, you and Fort Max got into it. And you held a gun on Rung.”

 

“WHAT?” Gadget said sharply, sitting up a little. “YOU’RE LYING. I’M NOT -- WHY WOULD I DO THAT. RUNG ISN’T EVEN A THREAT. AND FORTRESS MAXIMUS IS DEAD.”

 

“Try again on that last one,” Havoc said. “He’s on the ship. And apparently, you were pretty convinced that Rung was a threat. You threatened to blow his head off.”

 

Dread, guilt and nausea crashed into Gadget and she lay back down, turning away. “GO AWAY.”

 

“Can’t, I’ve gotta finish checking you out.”

 

“GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE!”

 

“Gadget, Gadget, honey, it’s alright,” Flux soothed, hand coming to pet her side again. “It’s okay, really.” 

 

Gadget hated that the feeling made her relax even through her sudden misery. Maybe everyone was right about her. Psychotic and violent, just a vicious empurata. She tried to convince herself that Whirlygig had psychosis and she had never hurt a cyberfly, and tried to call to memory Whirlygig’s numerous affirmations that simply having psychosis didn’t make her violent. Gadget found herself not believing her own thoughts. Maybe she was just different. Maybe those affirmations didn’t apply to her. Maybe she really was just a violent freak. Nobody in their right mind would hurt  _ Rung. _ Rung was just…  _ Rung. _

 

Then again, Gadget conceded that she hadn’t exactly been in her  _ right mind _ for a good few centuries, now. Flux’s hand was still soothing, still stroking. Havoc had thankfully waited for a few moments. “Gadget,” she said, “just a couple more things. I gotta finish this checkup, you were delirious when Rung brought you in.”

 

Gadget had held a gun on him, and Rung still brought her into the medibay instead of ditching her to security? Guilt bloomed even as Gadget found herself trusting him just… perhaps the tiniest shred more. “FINE.”

 

Flux’s field was gentle, like cooling gel on a chemical burn. Gadget just did her best to focus on that as Havoc’s hands checked over a body that wasn’t Gadget’s own anymore. The sensations felt like they were on another person. Mercifully, it was over soon, and Havoc pulled away. “Alright, you’re good. Do you feel okay? Any disorientation, dizziness?”

 

Gadget wasn’t dizzy, but she sure as hell was disoriented. It still all felt like a dream, like she would wake up suffocating in her habsuite with the holes in the walls and get up to put more holes in the goddamn walls. But she didn’t -- this was real. She wished Haven was here. He would understand, better than anyone on this ship. She knew that he had been her doctor but he had almost morphed into a mentor in her last years at Garrus-10, or even a friend. He was familiar, comforting, safe. Gadget felt instantly comforted at the lingering scent of cygarette smoke and the sound of raspy voices, or rattly vents. Most people’s hands felt dirty or grimy when they touched her, but Haven’s were clean, devoid of any other purpose but medicinal comfort. “I’M FINE.”

 

“You sure?”

 

“YES. CAN I GO NOW?”

 

Havoc eyed her suspiciously. “You sure?”

 

“YES. CAN I GO?”

 

Havoc’s lips quirked downwards for a second -- she tapped her foot. “Yes,” she finally said. “But be safe, alright? You had a hell of a --”

 

“EPISODE. I KNOW.” Gadget sat up grouchily and tossed the blanket off, swinging her legs off the bed on the side closest to Flux, who rubbed at her shoulder comfortingly.

 

“-- scare,” Havoc finished, pointedly. “You scared us.”

 

“I KNOW!”

 

“Will you stop, for two seconds?” Havoc snapped, coming around to block Gadget from storming off. “I mean that we were scared  _ for _ you, Gadget. Not  _ of _ you.”

 

Gadget stood frozen, finials flicking erratically as she tried to process this, and imagined Haven saying those same words over and over and over again, on endless repeat, in an attempt to understand. Understanding dawned, but she didn’t like what it meant, and so she stuffed it down, finials flattening. Flux quietly watched with wide, yellow eyes. “GOT IT. FINE. LET ME GO, PLEASE?”

 

Havoc nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for Gadget to go ahead. Flux stood up as well and followed the speedster out, steady footsteps the underlying beat to Gadget’s frenetic heel clicks. They got out into the hall and walked in silence for a few seconds, as Gadget hugged herself tightly and hunched her shoulders.

 

“Hey,” Flux said, gently, trying to lean down and to the side to talk softer. “Are you alright?”

 

“YEAH.” Gadget felt nothing but revulsion at the thought of Flux seeing into her spark, as mealy and pilfered as it was. Nothing but vileness perforated her very existence at this point, and the thought of having someone like Flux see through her like optic glass, right to her very core, dismantled and sickly bleached as it was, made her grateful her intake structure didn’t allow her to purge. “FINE.”

 

“Are you sure?” Flux pestered, infuriatingly gently. “You don’t look fine. I’m worried about you.”

 

“YEAH. WELL.” Gadget didn’t know how to respond to that, so she didn’t. 

 

Flux kept going. “When I was Major General,” she said thoughtfully, “sometimes my subordinates would tell me that they were fine, when they really weren’t.”

 

“SO WHAT?”

 

“Soo,” Flux led, voice lilted, with a tinge of affection bleeding through her concern, “I’m going to tell you the same thing I told them.”

 

Gadget fell silent, gesturing that she was ready to hear it.

 

“If you aren’t fine,” Flux said, comforting voice soft, “that’s okay, and you don’t have to tell me. Just… take care of yourself so that you will be fine.”

 

Gadget, despite wanting to be mad about it, found herself relaxing, and she slowed her frantic walking pace. Flux slowed behind her to accommodate. “YOU SOUND MORE LIKE A CARRIER THAN A MAJOR GENERAL.”

 

“Ah, well,” Flux laughed, huge shoulders shrugging as her arms folded palm-up at the elbows. “A lot of the petty officers were young, and a blacksmith’s voice helped more than a drill sergeant's. I learned that being gentle until absolutely necessary helped more than just shouting the upset out of them.”

 

Gadget nodded in acquiescence, contemplating. “PROBABLY AN UNUSUAL STANCE WITH YOUR PEERS.”

 

“Oh, it was,” Flux asserted, voice going deeper momentarily in exasperated remembrance. “Especially one of my fellow Major Generals, who decidedly preferred shouting. We butted heads a lot.” She sighed. “But either way. I’m getting off track. You don’t have to tell me if you’re okay, or even be okay, but just… don’t beat yourself up too much, alright?”

 

Gadget stopped (they were at her door anyways) and turned to look back up at Flux. “YOU DIDN’T HOLD A GUN ON RUNG. FUCKING RUNG.”

 

“You were sick, Gadget,” Flux said, a little frustration bleeding through. “You’re sick, you’re not  _ evil. _ I don’t think Rung, or Havoc, or anyone for that matter would blame you for being sick.”

 

“A LOT OF PEOPLE WOULD BLAME ME FOR BEING… SICK.”

 

“Fuck those people,” Flux said, bluntly, and tossed her head back as a demonstrative gesture. “I imagine those are the same people that would blame me for having post-traumatic stress. Nobody needs those people.”

 

“IT DOESN’T CHANGE THE FACT THAT I POINTED A GUN AT RUNG. I COULD HAVE KILLED HIM.”

 

“But you didn’t,” Flux said, pointedly, and crossed her arms, one eyebrow lifting. “I’m not going to let you make yourself out to be the bad guy here, so you can quit while you’re ahead.” She was trying not to smile, and it was contagious, humor bubbling up in Gadget despite her best attempts to quash it. This wasn’t funny. She wasn’t going to laugh. Her finials twitched. She was not going to laugh.

 

Flux dissolved into giggling as she bowed in half, and Gadget followed her, fuzzing static instead of real laughter so her voice didn’t embarrass her. “STOP, YOU’RE MAKING ME LAUGH, THIS IS SERIOUS.”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” Flux laughed, “I can’t help it.” Then she sobered up. “Hey,” she said, tone suddenly so different it gave Gadget whiplash. “So, um… do you wanna, come up to the observatory deck, with me? The star system we’re passing through is… it’s really beautiful. Might make you feel a little better.”

 

Gadget resisted the urge to nearly shout “yes.” “UH… WELL…”

 

“If you don’t want to that’s fine,” Flux demurred, looking away with a little smile. “I’ve got candy, though.”

 

“I CAN’T EAT CANDY-”

 

“They’re gummies,” Flux clarified, and Gadget paused.

 

“I…” what else was she going to do, put holes in her habsuite walls? “I… YEAH. YEAH, LET’S GO.”

 

Flux beamed, cheeks flushing, and then gestured behind herself with her head. “Then, uh… let’s spin some rotors, huh?”

 

Gadget nodded and followed Flux up to the observatory deck, a comfortable, cozy nook of a space littered with cushions, pillows, and a plush cushion covering the floor. The thick plexiglass above them in an oblong dome gleamed with the remote blackness of space, the nebula star system they were passing through twinkling in hues of green, purple, blue and colors in between. It swirled across the floor in projected light like a planetarium, as Flux sat down on a couch where it lined the wall, and patted the space next to her. Gadget sat as well and the two leaned back to look up. It wasn’t comfortable -- so they moved to the floor, laying on their backs as the stars and inky blackness of space moved above them. It was quiet up here, as if the absolute silence of space outside permeated through the glass and muffled everything in the room. Flux’s soft voice broke the silence like glass shattering.

 

“The view is beautiful,” she whispered, and Gadget nodded, peeking over at her. She was watching the starscape, yellow eyes wide as her lashplates glinted and her huge eyebrows lifted high. Her nose looked even stronger from this angle, her helm cheek guards covering what Gadget knew was her strong jaw to match. Her lips looked soft and translucent light shimmered over her face because the planetarium had never stopped moving the light. “I never get tired of looking at things like this.”

 

“YEAH,” Gadget said, hating how loud her voice was, and not looking up at the stars, “IT IS.” She shivered a little -- it was slightly chilly up here -- and moved a half bit closer to Flux, fighting herself not to move even closer. She was already on the plane’s wing so they didn’t take up practically the whole room. 

 

Flux’s helm swivelled so she could focus those intense yellow eyes on Gadget, and the empurata had never felt so exposed. It was as if Flux was dismantling her piece by piece with the gentlest touch and it sent a shiver racing down her backstruts. Gadget usually hated eye contact but she couldn’t look away, hypnotized by how Flux’s lumins grew wider and wider, brighter and brighter, until they threatened to swallow her whole optics. Her lips twitched into a bashful smile. "It's making your screen light up," the plane whispered, softer than before. "You look beautiful like this."

 

If Gadget had had cheeks, they would have flushed. Instead she just shivered again.

 

"Here," Flux said, "sit up. Are you cold?"

 

"UH."

 

Flux turned to the padded bench seating next to them and yoinked a blanket off of a cushion where it was folded. She unfolded it and flapped it to cover them, laying back down and inviting Gadget to snuggle in. If Gadget took the invitation she'd be pressed against Flux's side, head resting on the plane's arm, right at the shoulder… Flux waited patiently for the verdict.

 

The empurata, hyper-aware of the way that Flux's plating felt warm against her own, shimmied over to snuggle in, laying back down. The blanket was warm, Flux was warm -- everything was comfortable in a way that Gadget hadn't felt in… well, ever.

 

"Oh, wow," Flux breathed, face brightening up. "Look at that one, sweetness." Her other arm lifted to point a truly massive finger at an infantile supernova, freshly erupted and spewing gases and stardust into the blankness and quiet of space. "She's gorgeous."

 

"YEAH," Gadget agreed, her screen fixated on the supernova but her mind's eye somewhere else entirely. This was… this was nice. This felt good. Gadget never wanted this to end. "YEAH, SHE IS."

 

They stayed there for hours, watching the system pass by. They wouldn't be out of this one for another few days at least, so there wasn't any rush.

 

Gadget, having long since curled towards Flux to cuddle, rattled her finials. She was fighting sleepiness, if she was being honest, still exhausted from… whatever happened yesterday. Flux was apparently sleepy too -- she yawned, and the soft blue light from the nebula they were under washed the room in bluegreen hues. Gadget found her helm resting on Flux's chest, sleep digging its claws into her and refusing to let go. She finally lost the battle as Flux started to hum, the vibrations rattling her chest soothingly. It was the most peaceful sleep she could remember in a century. No nightmares came to haunt her, and nothing squeezed her chest. Gadget felt like she slept longer, and more soundly, than any time in her life, lulled back by the rumble of flight engines whenever her body tried to wake up in the night. Finally, late the next morning, she stirred to wake up for real, systems rebooting as she purred softly. She was warm, perfectly and drowsily so, the surface under her soft. She onlined her screen and picked her helm up from where it was resting… on Flux’s chest. The empurata had a bit of a start, jumping just a little, and her sparkbeat took off momentarily before calming back down. Flux was still asleep, and the room was still awash with slowly moving patterns of light, peaceful. Gadget settled back down and stared up at Flux’s face. Her eyes were shut gently, the lines scored in her face to make her more imposing providing a structure to so much soft. Now that the startling part of waking up next to someone was over, Gadget was getting drowsy again, spark warm with comfort. She quickly fell back asleep and into a dream. She and Flux were stargazing again, talking, and then faster than Gadget could process, they were kissing, the world around them shrinking until Gadget could barely register it, as her dream obsessively focused on how the feeling of Flux’s tongue teasing her intake made her tanks feel. It was only when Flux’s hands drifted to Gadget’s panels and Gadget enjoyed it did the empurata jerk awake again, this time panicking, and sat up, looking around.

 

“Woah, hey,” Flux said, sleepily as she blinked, eyes more than half-lidded. She spoke through a truly impressive yawn. “Hey, whaaa -- oh! What’s the matter, sweetness?” The plane looked like she was nodding off mid-sentence and trying to stay awake.

 

“NOTHING,” Gadget said, shaken, and lay back down. “HOW LONG HAVE WE BEEN UP HERE?”   
  


“Oh, a few hours,” Flux answered softly, and trailed off as her eyes drifted closed. She shook herself a tiny bit more awake. “Why, you wanna leave?”

 

“NO,” Gadget said slowly, snuggling back in. “I JUST HAD A -- A WEIRD DREAM.”

 

“Oh, what was it about?”

 

“I’M FORGETTING NOW,” Gadget lied, a chill taking her, “BUT IT WAS WEIRD.”

 

“Oh, I hate that,” Flux commiserated, smiling with her voice. “Here, we don’t have shifts for another twelve hours, I commed to get the one I was gonna be on now off, in case you wanted to… I dunno, hang out besides napping together.” She yawned again. “Not that napping isn’t good,” she sighed, “this has been really nice. But just in case.”

 

Gadget couldn’t think of anything else she wanted to do more.

  
  


\------------------

  
  


Flux sighed dreamily into her drink, trying not to smile. Havoc grumbled into her own drink.

 

“What’d she do this time,” the plane sighed dramatically.

 

Flux blinked in light offense, smiling. “Hey,” she said, “what do you know?”

 

“You’re making the same face you used to make at me,” Havoc said, slurping her drink. “So what’d Gadget do?”

 

“You’ll laugh at me!”

 

“I won’t! Well, maybe a little. But not that much!”

 

“Okay, okay. Well, we went, um… we went stargazing last night.”

 

“Ugh!” Havoc cried out, spitting her drink back into her glass. “You two are disgusting! That’s so sweet I’m going to throw up!” After she recovered, she opened her mouth to say something, but Whirl came over.

 

“What’s nasty?”

 

“Gadget and I went stargazing last night,” Flux said, and Whirl threw his head back, making gross gagging sounds.

 

“Absolutely disgusting, gross,” he said loudly, and then looked back at her. “How’d it go?”

 

“Yeah,” Havoc agreed, “How’d it go?” They both leaned forwards expectantly, waiting for Flux to tell them.

 

Flux just rolled her eyes, laughing. “You two are terrible. It went fine,” she said, fake snippily. “We took a nap together, actually. She’s so beautiful,” Flux sighed.

 

_ “Ew!”  _ Whirl shouted, his optic curling into a crescent of delight. “Congrats, Yucky. So did you guys --” He made an obscene gesture with both sets of claws and Flux squawked, waving her hands to fan the notion away from her.

 

“No! No, stop! She doesn’t like me that way! It’s not like that! Whirl, I’m serious!”

  
  


\-------------------------------------

  
  


Quite a ways away, on a different ship, Kaon frowned thoughtfully, tapping his fingers on the console quickly as he spaced out, something gnawing at him. He jumped when Vos hissed something at him spitefully, and made a face, fishing a ball of crumpled scrap foil out of his subspace and beaning Vos in between the eyes with it. “Shut it, you overgrown p-”

 

“Something the matter?” Tarn questioned pointedly, leaning up in his seat in the captain’s chair. Helex snickered from his station and Tesaurus just yawned.

 

“No,” Kaon mumbled sulkily, and the pause hung in the air. Then, he sighed, tossed his head like he was rolling his eyes, and swiveled around in his chair. “It’s just, do you ever feel like we’ve forgotten something?”

 

“Something slipped your mind, Kaon?” 

 

“I’m just saying, Kyrant-X,” Kaon sighed, flopping his hands out so his palms rested up. “We got the scientist and everything, business as usual, but what about the -- y’know, beast that he made? Shouldn’t we have ganked that too?”

 

“Such a vile creature isn’t worth our attention,” Tarn waved aside, sneering. “Without food, it will starve to death, anyways. No need to waste resources on something that won’t even understand the part it’s playing.”

 

“Uh-huh.” Kaon frowned again and shook his head. “You’re probably right.”

 

_ “Probably?” _ Tarn asked, suddenly louder, and stood up, descending from the throne of his captain’s chair to stalk over and loom above Kaon, whose tesla coils crackled with nervous energy. “That’s an _ interesting _ choice of wording, Kaon.”

 

“Ooooh…” Helex giggled at his station, and Kaon shot him a glare from under Tarn’s elbow. Tarn grabbed him by the chinguard and wrenched his gaze back to the tank.

 

“Eyes on me, Kaon. I said, that’s an  _ interesting _ choice of wording.”

 

“I’m just saying that, it  _ is _ a Phase Sixer,” Kaon argued, “Domesticated or not. I’m not saying you’re wrong, I’m just saying that it might be  _ prudent _ to eliminate it rather than glorious.”

 

Tarn hummed softly, letting go. “I see. Thank you for your input. But -- no. Like I said -- the thing will starve to death without food anyhow, and it isn’t on The List. Some things are better left to nature to take care of. That thing wasn’t meant to exist, and so it will be dragged back into the void where it was meant to stay.”

 

“The blasphemy of re-animating a Major General,” Kaon muttered, shaking his head and turning back around, as Tarn returned to the captain’s chair. 

 

“We need not concern ourselves with it,” Tarn said, firmly. “I admire your dedication, Kaon, but the thing will snuff itself out.”

  
  


\----------------------------------

  
  


Gadget was picking her daily rations from her shelf when her audials picked up the faint sound of someone walking behind her. Her finials flattened immediately and she ducked around to the other side of the shelf, feeling exposed. Maybe she should invest in some attention deflectors -- that way, she wouldn’t have to intimidate people to make them go away. After all, they wouldn’t even notice her to encroach on her in the first place. She made a mental note, pleased at the idea’s genius, and peered in between the canisters. Rung stood on the other side of the shelf and Gadget cringed back further.

 

The orange bot gently walked around and poked his head around the edge of the shelf. “Gadget?”

 

Gadget looked away from him, ceding the surely incoming visual standoff and keeping her visor lower than his eye-line, almost trained to the floor. Every time she was tempted to look up, she flicked it back down -- a physical letter of apology. _ I’m sorry, _ she was trying to say.  _ I don’t know what I did, but I heard it was bad. _

 

Rung prompted again. “Gadget, it’s really alright. I just wanted to talk to you for a moment, if that’s okay.”

 

Gadget was silent, claws scraping against each other in a mindless stim of sharpening them. When she had developed that habit, she wasn’t sure. “UH. WHY.”

 

“Well, I am your psychiatrist,” he said lightly, and something in Gadget’s head tugged, threatening to pull loose. She shook it, violently, to fling the tugging thing right out of her head. “No?”

 

“NOT YOU.”

 

“Oh. Is something the matter?”

 

“SOMETHING’S PULLING,” Gadget said frustratedly, banging a claw against her head with a  **_CLANK._ ** “IN HERE.”

 

“Oh, okay, let’s not, uh, let’s not hurt ourselves now,” Rung said, his voice soft. Gadget knew the tone of voice -- lots of people had used it before with her. It was the same tone one approached a feral creature with. She dropped her claw. “What’s pulling, Gadget?”

 

“YOU SAID, “I AM YOUR PSYCHIATRIST,” AND SOMETHING STARTED PULLING. I DON’T KNOW WHAT IT IS, SO I WANT IT OUT. SO I SHOOK MY HEAD.”

 

“Ah, I see.” Gadget risked a cursory peek at him and then turned her visor away. He looked irritatingly hard to read, the corners of his mouth turned down a little and the curve of his eyebrows turned upwards. She felt trapped in this corner, behind the shelf and against the wall, and just wanted to cram herself into the vent and scurry away through the piping of the ship. “Well, like I said, I just wanted to talk a little, maybe. Why don’t you come by my office, if you’re otherwise free?”

 

Gadget’s arms circled her body and she was quiet for a moment.

 

“You don’t have to, of course.”

 

“NO. IT’S FINE.” She gestured for him to lead, so he did, quietly walking them both back to his office. Gadget sat down in Her Chair and Rung sat on the couch across from it, getting settled. “WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT?”

 

“Well, I wanted to check in after earlier this week,” Rung said, inclining his head to her. “Are you doing alright?”

 

“FINE.”

 

“No relapses to speak of, medication regimen going alright?”

 

“I’M NOT OFF MY MEDS, RUNG. AND I’M NOT BACK ON BLUE MOON, EITHER.”

 

“Oh, I wasn’t saying you were. But the medication’s still behaving well? No interactions?”

 

“NO. THAT WAS ALL ME BEING… ME.”

 

“Do you remember anything, Gadget? At all?”

 

“JUST WHAT HAVOC TOLD ME.” Gadget looked down at the floor. “WHAT… DID HAPPEN?”

 

“I don’t want to-”

 

“PLEASE, TELL ME?” Gadget looked back up at him. “IT’S BEEN MAKING ME CLIMB TO DEDADOD’S WINDSCRAPE.”

 

“Hm?” Rung’s brow furrowed and Gadget brushed it aside. 

 

“CARTHECTIC EXPRESSION. IT’S BEEN DRIVING ME CRAZY.”

 

“Ah. Well, Gadget…” Rung sighed. “You… approached me in the hallway, and didn’t seem to know who I was. You were asking for directions to the security suite, and seemed agitated, so I thought I might walk with you and try to ascertain what was wrong. We were interrupted by Fortress Maximus --”

 

“SO HE REALLY IS ON THE SHIP.”

 

“Yes, he is.” Rung nodded. After a moment, he picked up where he’d left off. “We were interrupted by Fortress Maximus, who also seemed… agitated, and you brought out a gun. There was a short standoff and I sent Fort Max away, and you were apparently spooked by something, and… held the gun on me for a brief period of time. I defused the situation and took you to the medibay.”

 

Gadget peered at him. “SOMETHING’S MISSING.”

 

“Hm?”

 

“YOU’RE LEAVING SOMETHING OUT, I CAN TELL. WHAT ELSE DID I DO?”

 

“Nothing, Gadget.”

 

“YOU’RE LYING TO ME,” Gadget accused, hackles raising a little. If Rung was lying about this, what else was he lying about? Any shred of trust she had accumulated in him abandoned her in an instant.

 

“I’ve told you what happened. That  _ is _ what happened,” Rung said firmly, Gadget slouched back in her chair and looked away. She guessed she could yield the point just this once. After all, she did almost blow his head off. “Thank you. Now, you’ve been well since earlier this week?”

 

“GOOD ENOUGH. TIRED.”

 

“I can imagine. No urge to hurt yourself? Or anyone else?”

 

Gadget shook her helm, thinking about the growing number of holes in the walls, and her two claws on one wrist scraped against each other to sharpen idly. “NO.”

 

“Is there anything else you’re worried about? Are you sleeping alright?”

 

Gadget cringed, thinking about the horrible demon that visited her near-nightly. “I’M FINE.”

 

“You seemed to wince when I said that. Is there something the matter?  _ Are _ you having trouble sleeping?”

 

Gadget looked at the floor. “JUST SLEEP PARALYSIS. SOME HALLUCINATIONS.”

 

“Ah. Do you want to talk about them?”

 

“NOT MUCH TO TALK ABOUT. THEY’RE SCARY.” Gadget's claws quickened in their scraping. "THE WORST THING IS HOW THEY DON'T HAVE ANY EYES."

 

Rung stilled for a moment, seemingly disturbed, which was fair. "No… erm… no eyes, did you say?"

 

"YEAH. JUST SOCKETS, WHY?"

 

"No reason."

 

"UH. DON'T YOU HAVE OTHER THINGS TO DO? NO OFFENSE, BUT THIS ISN'T EXACTLY A SCHEDULED APPOINTMENT."

 

"This is my free time. I just wanted to make sure you were alright."

 

"I'VE BEEN BETTER. BUT I'M FINE."

 

"That's good," Rung said, "On a lighter note, I heard you spent time with Flux recently?"

 

"OH. YEAH." Gadget looked at the floor for a different reason and the scraping of her claws stopped. "YEAH. IT WAS NICE. WE WENT TO THE OBSERVATORY DECK AND LOOKED UP AT THE STARS."

 

"Oh, that sounds lovely!"

 

"IT… IT WAS. IT WAS NICE. SHE WAS NICE. IS NICE. UM."

 

"You know," Rung led, a tone of mischief in his voice as one side of his mouth quirked upwards, "I hear we're docking at Hedonia when we pass it. There's lots of nice places to go… for dinner, say, with someone."

 

Gadget's finials flattened. "OH, I CAN'T DO THAT," she bleated, "NO WAY. SHE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE --"

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


"-- me that way!" Flux protested, putting her hands up. "Really, Havoc, I can't take her to dinner. I mean,  _ dinner? _ That's like a d -- a d --" Flux gulped audibly. 

 

"A date?" Havoc finished, smiling wryly. "Look at you, a big important Major General, quaking over a date with a pretty girl."

 

Flux crumpled up her napkin and beaned it across the table at Havoc. "You're so mean to me. I can't take her --"

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


"-- ON A DATE. I MEAN, THAT'S CRAZY." Gadget shook her head. "THAT'S. YEAH THAT'S… CRAZY."

 

"How so?"

 

"SHE DOESN'T LIKE ME THAT WAY, I MEAN…" Gadget gestured to herself.

 

Rung hummed through his nose. "You don't know that. Besides, it doesn't have to be a --"

  
  


\--------------------

  
  


"--  _ date,  _ ya know," Havoc said, one eyebrow raising. "It can just be you and her, going to dinner. But just to say, I'm like a hundred percent sure this femme would  _ jump _ for a date with you."

 

Flux rolled her eyes, the chatter of Swerve's soft in the background. "She really doesn't like me that way, Havoc. I mean, look at her. She could be the centerfold in a model magazine. I'm just some dumb guzzler."

 

"Hey," Havoc said fiercely. "She's not 'out of your league' just because you're Low Gaumic, or whatever." The fierce expression faded into a grin. "She's outta your league 'cause you're a clunker."

 

"Hey!" Flux cried, trying not to smile as Havoc cackled. "I thought you were gonna say something  _ nice _ , you  _ dick!" _

 

"Me? Never," Havoc chuckled, wiping tears. "Alright, I'm callin' it quits. I gotta get --"

  
  


\-----------------------

  
  


"-- back to work," Rung said, pleasantly as he checked the chronometer on the wall. "I have a patient coming soon. No rest for the weary, you know." 

 

"YEAH… WHY  _ ARE _ YOU THE ONLY SHRINK ON A SHIP LIKE THIS?"

 

Rung tried to keep in his laugh but it escaped as a snort. "I like to think I was the only one who was enough of a dummy to sign up," he quipped in a rare moment of openness. "Thank you for checking in, Gadget, it's good to know you're doing alright. I'll see you in a couple of days for your appointment, right?"

 

"RIGHT." Gadget said, getting up and walking out. “THANKS FOR. CHECKING ON ME, I GUESS.” Before she could hear Rung’s response, she ducked out of the door, only to nearly run face-first into Whirl’s midsection. The copter shrieked gleefully (and overexaggeratedly.)

 

“Gadget!” He cried, pounding a set of claws down on her right shoulder. “Great to see you! Keepin’ it sharp? Still like eyeballs?” 

 

Gadget was quiet for a second. Whirl, incomprehensibly, ever since their first fight, had seemed to like her. “UH… I’M FINE. YOU…?”

 

“Still kickin’,” Whirl said, patting her heavily a couple more times. “Hey, I’d love to stay and shoot the shit, but I gotta go listen to a guy tell me what’s wrong with my head for an hour. Stay weird, Gadget.” And with that, his claws left her shoulder and he walked inside, where Gadget heard him crow  _ “Eyebrows! _ How ya doin’?” before the door shut. Gadget was shocked to find that… Whirl really wasn’t so bad, once he liked you. She shrugged it off and walked away, going to report to her shift on the bridge. On the way she passed Fortress Maximus, who was walking with purpose and his gaze trained straight ahead. He didn’t even notice as she cringed and crammed herself against the wall to let him pass.

 

She watched him go and as soon as he was far enough away she took off, hurrying until she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore. Thankfully, the bridge doors loomed in front of her soon after that, and opened for her. She walked in and took her station, plugging in and working dutifully until a siren blared and lights flashed. She looked up and around, the bridge in chaos. The intercom speaker set into the arm of the captain’s chair crackled, and Ratchet’s voice came through.  _ “Rodimus! Fort Max just  _ **_shot_ ** _ five people!” _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEYYY FINALLY chapter 5 is done!
> 
> as for posting schedule, I think what i'm gonna do is get to the end of an arc before I post that arc -- kinda like the comic, i guess, with "issues." That way I'm still updating semi-regularly but i have the time to write and finish quality stories.
> 
> What do yall think?


	6. UPDATE!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm still working on this! I'm just also writing a whole book and doing schoolwork, so I'm taking a big break on this. But i have NO intention of dropping it!

Hey all!!! I'm definitely still going to keep at this work, i just have a ton of other things on my plate right now. For starters, I'm writing a book series, tentatively titled "Gates of Awe." It's a book about a queer found-family overthrowing a fascist colonizing state. Also, there's magic. I'm also up to my eyeballs in school stuff right now, so this has kinda taken a back burner and I'm taking a break from it. But worry not! I will be finishing it!

Thank you all for your patience and reading along this far!! <3

\- jake, author and himbo extraordinaire


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